Another Washed Up Story
by Porcelain Fish
Summary: Another Washed up in Spira Fic - Rated M for language, adult themes and situations - Follow Horace as he faces a new or old threat to the world and everyone in it, meets new friends and lovers, and avoids an icky death. Blood, Sex, & Politics.  Ch2 Up!
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Notes:**

Final Fantasy and its characters belong to Square Enix, not me.

Fair warning – the first few chapters are going to be relatively slow. This is an exploration on a "soft" character type and character development, so the main character is not going to be the guts and glory hack 'em up machismo man's man.

Slashy male/male pairings will be hinted at and included later. Also expect hetero relationships. I haven't decided how explicit sex is going to be yet.

For those of you familiar with my Warcraft work, I'm going to try for a little less sadistic gratuitous violence, but what violence there is will probably still be rather graphic.

I'm still primarily working on The Stones That Build A Well in the Warcraft section. Expect updates for this piece to be less frequent.

* * *

Prologue:

Horace woke with a start, dim alarm ringing through the dust and rubble of his sleepy brain. He could tell that something was vaguely wrong. He was almost definitely late for work again. His shift supervisor was going to kill him. His eyes flew open and he tried to jump out of bed.

His muscles didn't move.

"Uh, Bahamut? Is . . . he supposed to wake up?"

Things swam blearily into focus. He found himself promptly wishing they would swim right back out again, because it was the most horrifying nightmare he'd ever experienced.

Two massive, golden eyes like wells of light looked down at him above a pale blue surgeon's mask, regarding him from a red-feathered head with small horns on a long neck, framed by the apexes of folded leathery purple, crested wings, huge, curving bone spurs jutting from the sides of its narrow rib cage. The bird thing in a surgeon's mask made a weird noise that was halfway between a coo and a purr, head bobbing on its long neck.

"Don't _do_ that! You'll scare the living daylights out of him!"

With great effort, Horace managed to turn his head, rolling his eyes downward. The thing that had spoken was covered in massive red plates, huge black horns sprouting from its armored head. Unlike the bird, its eyes were a darker, harsher orange. It looked like a demon. It was also wearing a blue surgical mask.

Beside it was a woman who was literally blue from the tips of her long, braided hair to her blue sports bra to the blue wrap around her waist, bracelets and bangles of gold on her arms as she studied something in the direction of his midsection, the ubiquitous surgical mask covering her face below her blue eyes.

"Careful Yojimbo," she said in a slow, breezy voice that somehow reminded him of a wind over a glacier. "I think that's his colon."

"Bahamut!"

Horace's head tilted the other way. The girl who'd spoken was one of a trio, and she, like her sisters, was wearing a nurse's cap with a little red cross on the front in addition to the masks the other figments of his imagination were sporting. They were all wearing skinsuits that were apparently designed to mimic insects, only in varying colors, and what looked a lot like insect wings were standing upright from their shoulders.

Next to them was a vaguely manlike thing that seemed, for all intents and purposes, to have been carved from wood, including his broad, flat hat that reminded Horace of something he'd seen in a japanese anime movie. Like the others, there didn't seem to be any pupils in his eyes, just glowing orbs behind stylized eye holes above his surgical mask.

His arms were red up to the elbows. Horace got a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"Whoa," said the chubbiest of the insect/nurse girls. "Look at that thing, its clenching."

"I believe that would be the stomach." The voice was boyish, drawing Horace's attention to the foot of the table.

It was almost impossible to lift his head, but he managed by sheer dint of horrified desperation.

The discreetly placed screen of blue cloth kept him from seeing anything above Yojimbo's blood-covered forearms and only made him whimper.

It was unmistakably a dragon that was crouched at the foot of what Horace realized with a sinking feeling could only be some sort of operating table, its scales black, red and purple feathered wings folded to its sides. It wore the biggest blue surgical mask of all, stretching across its massive muzzle.

"You were saying something, Mindy?" it continued urbanely in that incongruous boyish tone.

"I said, I think he's _awake_." That was the smallest of the three insect girls in nurse caps, and Horace realized with a feeling of disbelief that he could actually see her wings beating, her feet hanging in the air.

"Hmm?" The dragon lifted its head, gaze fixing on Horace. "You're right." It rose from its crouch. "Well, let's insert the uterus."

_"The WHAT!"_

Horace's voice was a shriek. Several of the masked observers winced.

Yojimbo made an irritated growling noise, not glancing up from what he was doing.

The dragon just shrugged, shuffling its black wings. "Operating table humor," it said with a wink. "Just breaking the ice."

Horace whimpered again.

"Are you _sure_ Yojimbo is qualified to perform this kind of procedure?" The red-plated demon asked, tone mildly concerned.

"He's taken plenty of people apart. How much different can putting them back together be?" The dragon shrugged again. "Almost ready Yojimbo?"

"Shouldn't we . . . I don't know . . . put him back under?" the blue woman asked languidly.

"No, the white magic has to integrate with his conscious mind too, or he'll never be able to use it effectively," the dragon said patiently in that bizarre, boyish voice. Abruptly its head turned away, eyes narrowing. "Ixion, it was a _joke_. I don't know _where_ you found that, but _go_ put it back!" It shook its big, scaly head. "Has anyone seen Anima?"

"She doesn't want to scare him," Shiva said once more in her cool, drawling tones.

"You _would_ think she'd have taken this a little better," the dragon complained.

"She's _sensitive._ I've told you that time and time again, Bahamut," the demon said, folding arms that ended in massive claws over its huge, armored chest. "She doesn't like this plan, especially after what happened the _last_ time."

"Well _I_ don't see what the problem is," the dragon replied haughtily. "It was a test run. We've worked out all the kinks. It'll be smooth sailing for us this time."

"I've _totally_ heard _that_ one before," the blue woman said with a roll of her ice-colored eyes.

The massive wooden man the others called Yojimbo abruptly let out a satisfied grunt and held up something red and pulpy.

Horace took one look at it and almost fainted.

In fact, he wasn't quite sure why he didn't, but something held back the darkness.

"Anima, glad you showed," the dragon said brightly, looking at something over Horace's head. "Well, here goes."

The dragon drew in a deep breath, colossal chest swelling. Horace's eyes widened as it was expelled in a blast of brilliant, blinding light.

The world was gray. It was a soft, peaceful kind of gray, like everything was wrapped in fog. Horace gradually became aware of the sound of water, lapping against something. He lowered his eyes.

It was the blue woman, her face startlingly human and lovely without the blue surgical mask. She smiled softly at him, not speaking, working the wooden oar in her hands, and he realized that he was a on boat, waves pattering gently at its sides as she propelled them to some unknown destination.

After a time, Horace relaxed, letting his mind drift along with the fog that surrounded them, lost in gray spaces, letting the dream wrap around him.

Chapter 1 – Awkward Fish Is Tossed Back, But Washes Up Again

"Uh, excuse me. Can you hear me?"

"No," Horace muttered absently, not wanting to open his eyes.

"Oh." Someone shook his shoulder. "Can you hear me now?"

"Nmm-mm," Horace muttered.

"How about now?" they asked curiously, giving him another shake.

Horace opened his eyes to get a look at his tormentor.

Her hair was blond, her eyes mismatched - one blue and one green. She smiled down at him, two front teeth missing in her small face, maybe all of seven or eight years. Horace wasn't sure. He'd never been very good with children or gauging their ages.

She straightened from leaning over him and put a hand above her eyes, looking off into the distance, and then glanced back at him. "This is a nice boat."

"Is it?" Horace glanced around him, but only saw what looked a little like a broader, deeper version of a hollowed out canoe.

She nodded firmly and stamped her foot, hollow thump reverberating through the wood. "It's solid." She folded her hands behind her. "Can we go sailing?"

Horace blinked. "Sailing where?"

"I dunno." She shrugged. "I've always wanted to go to Bevelle."

He blinked owlishly at her. "Where's Bevelle?"

She shrugged. "Somewhere that way, I think," she said, pointing off into the distance.

"Oh." Horace tried to get up, and realized dimly that he couldn't move. He glanced down and realized that he was secured by what looked like a ludicrous amount of white gauze. He blinked, and looked back to the little girl, who regarded him with an oddly expectant air. "Did you do this to me?"

She blinked. Apparently the question wasn't what she'd been expecting. She shook her head quickly, blond locks flying. "No. Didn't your Guardians do that? After you died?"

It was Horace's turn to be confused. "I died?"

She shrugged. "Looks like."

Horace frowned, brow furrowing. "I died?" he asked again.

She shrugged. "Well. I dunno . . . _I've_ never done it before."

"Well, how do you know I'm dead then?" he asked reasonably enough.

"Why else would you be lying in a boat wrapped up like a mummy after having been set adrift by your sorrowful Guardians?" she countered, putting her small fists on her hips. "I've heard the story a dozen times from Granny Elspeth. You're Marik Tass, the Lost Summoner. You're in the boat and everything, just like the story."

"Huh." Horace shook his head after a moment. "I think you may have confused me with somebody else."

Her little face turned impatient, as though he were a slow child and she his teacher. "There's only one Summoner that was ever set adrift by his sorrowful Guardians in a boat that _I_'ve heard of, and that's Marik Tass, so you _have_ to be him."

Horace pursed his lips, and then shook his head again. "No, I'm pretty sure I'm Horace Kinsley. I have been as long as I can remember."

"As long as you can remember?" She arched a blond eyebrow. "What'd you have for breakfast this morning?"

Horace thought, and then realized he hadn't actually had breakfast yet. "I haven't had it yet."

"Or you don't remember having it," she said with a calm air of superiority, folding her arms. "Memory loss. Happens a lot in the stories."

"I had eggs and toast for breakfast yesterday," he offered.

She shrugged and walked past him, hopping over the side of the boat.

"Where are you going?" he called after her, panic starting to enter his tone.

"The same place you are." Her voice carried back to him, tight with strain. "Bevelle."

"What's in Bevelle?" he asked loudly.

"Machina and magic and maesters and the Grand Temple." She grunted, let out a noise that sounded like she was in danger of giving herself a hernia, and Horace felt the boat shift, then shift further.

"I um . . . I'm not sure this is a good idea," he called as the boat wobbled, apparently drifting free of whatever it had run aground on.

"It's fine," she said, clambering over the side and walking past him toward the oar in the aft, small arms straining, little face turning red as she shoved and yanked.

"Would you like some help with that?" he asked.

"You're . . . dead," she huffed. "You're supposed . . . to just . . . lay there."

Horace's sense of misgiving deepened as he watched her strain. He was half-expecting the boat to run aground again almost immediately, but apparently she was better at this than she looked, because he felt the boat begin to rise and fall with the waves. Minutes passed. Horace wasn't sure how far they were getting from land, but one thing he _was_ sure of was that this wasn't a good idea.

"Where are your parents?" he asked quietly.

She stopped, looking at him, and the fierce fire of youthful determination that had burned in her mismatched eyes a moment ago was replaced by something else, a scared look that reminded him of an injured wild animal.

They both screamed as a big, tanned hand closed on the side of the boat, and then it was rocking wildly, threatening to capsize as the hand's owner pulled himself from the water, other hand closing on the other edge of the boat, somehow managing to rock it back in the other direction and swing his dripping body inside.

"Chappu, you big jerk!" The little girl stamped her foot.

Chappu knelt in the bottom of the boat, devoid of clothing but for the wrap of green and blue cloth around his waist, water streaming over a lean, powerful, copper-skinned body. He grinned, baring straight, even white teeth, and ran a big hand over his short red hair.

"Nice boat, Mayu." His baritone voice was full of laughter

"You almost capsized me you . . . you _jerk_!" She stomped over, little fists raised, and he fended her off, that broad smile still on his face as her small hands battered at his raised forearms.

A particularly large wave made the boat lurch, and Chappu let out a surprised noise, tumbling backward, back of his head hitting the bottom of the boat with a loud _clunk_. He sat up, wincing, and his eyes met Horace's wide-eyed stare.

They both froze.

Chappu looked like he'd seen a ghost. "Who . . . who're you?" His eyes narrowed, expression turning from shock to anger. "What're you doing with Mayu?"

He was up in a heartbeat. Stars burst behind Horace's eyes as he was jerked around by rough hands, the back of his head making painful contact with the wooden platform he was lying on.

"Stop it, Chappu! That's Marik Tass! The Lost Summoner! You're disturbing the dead!"

Chappu's big, dripping fist came to a halt in mid-punch, brow furrowing as he turned away, looking over his shoulder, not loosening his grip on the gauze wrappings that bound Horace in place.

"What'd you say?"

"I_ said_ that's Marik Tass, you _nincompoop!_" she repeated with a scowl. "He's _dead_. You're _disturbing_ him!"

Chappu's head turned slowly back around, and all at once, he let go. Horace's already sore skull had another less than pleasant run-in with hard wood. Brown eyes looked him up and down, brow furrowing in the copper-skinned face.

"Mayu, what in Yevon's name is going on here?" Chappu asked quietly.

Horace winced and glanced down over his chest. Mayu had both her hands on her little hips, small face fixed in a diminutive yet still-ferocious scowl. _"I _found him first, and we're going to Bevelle. _You're_ not allowed, you big _dummy_!"

Chappu's young face tightened. "Mayu, they aren't there."

"They will be. If I have the ghost ship, I'll be able to see them!"

Chappu stood. "This is just a leaky old canoe, Mayu, with a. . ." He glanced at Horace, who tried to look as inoffensive as possible ". . .a creep in . . . creepy white bandages." He jerked his chin sideways. "Move outta the way."

Mayu held fast to the oar, eyes burning. "I _hate_ you," she screamed. "You ruin _everything_ you j_erk_!"

Horace saw the muscles in the big, broad back tense, and then relax. The big, copper-skinned young man lifted Mayu out of the way and set her next to Horace, and she pounded her fists on his chest and cried into his gauze.

Horace couldn't help feeling a little bit sorry for her, and gradually her fists and her tears slowed, and she just lay there half on top of him, quiet. Perhaps she was exhausted after all her hard work. She didn't move except to toy with the edge of one of his wrappings, sniffling occasionally.

Soon enough, Horace felt the boat run aground once more. Chappu lifted a sniffling Mayu out of the boat, and stepped out himself.

Horace whimpered as he felt a shove propel the boat once more out onto the water.

"Chappu, why'd you do that?"

"I figure somebody tied him up and left him in there for a good reason," Chappu said breezily. "'Sides, he's dead. He won't mind."

"It was his sorrowful Guardians," Mayu said helpfully, her voice getting farther away.

"Hmmm. I think I'm going to have to have a word with Granny Elspeth. You're too old for her to be telling you all these weird stories."

Horace wasn't sure how long he drifted, staring up at the endless blue sky above. Truth be told, he was a little bit stiff, but not really all that uncomfortable. The ache in his head gradually died away. His eyes sank shut.

It was the burger dream again. It was a dream he'd had many times, with increasing frequency in the years since since he'd started working at Joe's Burger Joint. He was a hamburger patty, taken out of a bag of identical, freeze-dried patties, layered between the two halves of a cheap, sesame-seed sprinkled bun and popped into a microwave.

Again and again, the smoky glass rotated in and out of view in the dim orange light, hypnotic and regular, the microwave surrounding him in a steady drone that never changed pitch.

The world chimed with a simple, succinct _ding_, announcing that he was done, ready to be piled with lettuce, tomatoes, pickles, and onions and squirted with ketchup and mayonnaise, then wrapped in thin, slightly slick paper and served with greasy fries and a tall, cold soft drink.

The moon glowed brilliant silver as Horace opened his eyes, peering thoughtfully down at him between the broad leaves of the trees that leaned out over the boat, full and round in the night sky, oddly large, as though it had sidled nearer while he was sleeping to get a better look at him. There were stars, so many of them, more than he'd ever seen in his life, brilliant and bright, and they actually _twinkled_. Horace stared at them, entranced.

He squeaked as something big landed in the boat next to him, setting it to rocking. The face was cloaked in shadow, impossible to see, much less read, but at least it_ looked_ human. Horace held his breath.

"You're like a bad penny, dead man." Chappu's tone was thoughtful in a way that made Horace's blood run cold. He squatted next to Horace, the hard lines of his unsmiling face coming into view, limned by moonlight. "So, who did you up like this?"

Horace swallowed. "Monsters did. There was a dragon, and a demon, and a woman with blue skin, and a wooden man, and-"

The furrow in the young man's brow was enough to make Horace shut his mouth instantly. Chappu only shook his head.

"You must be heat-sick. You've been out in the sun all day. Probably haven't even had any water." His tone wasn't apologetic, just annoyed. He sighed, got up, and moved over to where the oar sat in its brace on the back of the boat. His powerful arms began to stroke, propelling the little craft out from under the trees.

Horace watched him for a few minutes, until his neck began to ache from holding up his head, and then lay back and watched the stars sail by overhead instead. It was a much longer trip to shore this time.

He had only a brief moment's warning, and then his breath was evacuated from his stomach with a _whunf_ as he was flung over one broad shoulder like a sack of meal.

"If it would help, I could walk," he suggested after about ten or fifteen minutes had passed.

"Wrapped up like a mummy? I'd like to see that, but we don't have time." Chappu's voice was only slightly labored.

"You could untie me," Horace suggested politely.

"I could drag you by your feet. Or your hair."

Horace took the hint and shut up. The silence stretched out.

"So . . . are you really Marik Tass?"

"No," Horace said honestly. "I'm Horace Kinsley."

Chappu stopped. His voice quieted. "What were you doing in the boat with Mayu today?"

"She found me." Horace sighed. "I'm really stiff."

The ground hit him hard enough to knock the wind out of him, vision blurring with the blow. He lay on the path, gasping for breath, and his ears caught the sound of retreating footsteps. A tear slid from one one eye. He closed his eyes and prayed for the first time in a very long time, begged to wake up in his own bed.

When he opened them he was still lying on dirt. The curious moon had followed him, gazing down at him still, surrounded by flocks of glittering stars. Horace lay where he was and stared back up at them, able to do little else.

He didn't know when exactly he'd fallen asleep, but he woke at the sound of a growl. He turned his head as dripping jaws appeared in the moonlight, slaver dripping onto the path. It didn't look like any dog he'd ever seen, hide devoid of fur, as if the whole of its body were covered with mange, scabrous and discolored, brown and yellow teeth gleaming.

Horace let out a quiet whimper and closed his eyes tightly.

The _raaaawr_ that reached his ears didn't really sound all that fierce to him, but it _did_ get his attention, and he stared up, startled. Mayu was suddenly standing over him, dressed in shorts and a sleeveless shirt, a satchel over one shoulder. She was holding a stick in one hand, ablaze with blue fire.

For its part, the monstrous dog hesitated briefly, clearly rethinking its strategy in light of the change of circumstances. Horace probably would have done the same. After all, one didn't often encounter small girls waving big, blue-flaming sticks.

Mayu let out another not-quite-menacing "_Raaaaawr_" and this time the dog-thing snarled back.

Mayu swung her stick threateningly a few times.

The dog-thing snarled some more.

If Horace had been watching this on his small T.V. from the comfort of his worn loveseat, he would have turned the station to something else, uncomfortable with the probable ending. As it was, he could only lay there and pray for the dog-monster to take the bluff and go home.

The dog-monster leapt, and Mayu screamed as it knocked her down.

Horace did the only thing he could. He rolled over and bit it right on the narrow part of its closest hind leg, holding on for dear life.

It gave him a startled look, shook its leg once or twice, shook it harder, and then growled when he still refused to release it from his teeth and started to hop awkwardly around in a circle, body curving towards him, teeth bared.

Feet scuffed on the path, the dog-monster's head jerked up, and then it jerked a second time as a spearhead dove into its mouth and burst from the back of its skull. Horace rolled over and vomited out the foul taste in his mouth.

"Mayu, what you doin' out here?" Chappu's tone was grim as his footsteps approached.

"What do you think, you dummy?" she shot back, not cowed in the slightest despite her brush with death. "I came back for Marik."

Horace rolled back over. She didn't seem much the worse for wear in the light of her now-smoldering stick, no blood that he could see, just some dirt on one cheek. She put her small hands on her hips and glowered at the young islander man. "Now I have to drag him all the way back to the boat."

Chappu's gaze dropped to Horace. Horace flinched, but the copper-skinned young man just looked at him a moment longer and let out another sigh. "Keep watch for any more fiends," he muttered, growled really, and then knelt down and slung Horace once more over his shoulder.

Remembering all too clearly what had happened the last time he'd opened his mouth, and wary of the spear in Chappu's opposite hand, Horace observed strict silence this time on the way to wherever it was they were going.

"Chappu, we're going the wrong way," Mayu hissed.

"Hush Mayu, you aren't goin' back to that creepy boat tonight." Chappu's voice remained grim. "Neither is your dead Summoner."

Horace wasn't sure whether or not to be relieved at the announcement, withholding judgment until their destination became more apparent.

Of course, it was awfully difficult to see where exactly that was while facing the wrong direction, but Horace reasoned that it was likely preferable to lying on a cold dirt trail waiting to be eaten by something. So he stared down Chappu's broad back and watched his muscular copper legs appear, vanish from sight, and reappear again on the other side of the green and blue waist-wrap.

Mayu dropped back to look up at him, her nose scrunching briefly in her small face.

"So what's it like, being dead?"

Horace pursed his lips. "I don't think I'm allowed to talk to you," he whispered after a moment.

Mayu shot him a puzzled look. "Why not?"

Horace tried to shrug. It didn't work very well. Still, he managed to roll his shoulders in an awkward fashion.

Mayu's gaze dropped briefly to Chappu's back. "Are you afraid of him?" she whispered.

Horace nodded.

"He's really not that scary," she whispered reassuringly. "He just likes to act tough."

"Mayu, you walk ahead of me where I can see you," Chappu said gruffly.

Mayu rolled her eyes but complied.

"Yeah that's real attractive honey, you'll find yourself a husband real fast by sticking your tongue out at 'em." Chappu's tone had dropped to a growl again.

"At least I'll _get_ married. You're too _ugly_ to find a girl!" she snapped back, quick as a whip.

Chappu muttered something so low under his breath that even Horace couldn't make out the words.

They walked for what seemed like an awfully long time. Horace only had a moment's warning as Chappu's arm shifted, and then he was seeing stars again, head bouncing off of something much less forgiving than dirt.

He swallowed as rope coiled around his neck, but Chappu just tied it off in a knot.

"Don't go anywhere," he said with a sour smirk.

Horace rolled over and saw the other end of the rope was tied to a metal stake screwed into the stone he was lying on. A real dog was looking at him from not far away, rope tied to a ring on its collar, head resting on its paws. Horace smiled tentatively at it and tried to make himself comfortable.

"_What in Yevon's name?_"

Horace started awake, the dog cuddled at his side jerking its head up, ears perking straight up. He turned his head. A copper-skinned woman in a flowing white sun-dress and a wide-brimmed hat was staring at him from a few feet away, eyes wide. Horace tried to look as inoffensive as possible. She stared a moment longer, and then turned around and jogged out of sight.

He was just starting to breathe a sigh of relief when she reappeared with a knife in her hand.

Horace's eyes went as wide as saucers and he rolled over onto his belly and tried to squirm away. His canine companion got up with an ear-splitting bark, started dancing and pulling on his rope, yelping and barking, making an ungodly racket.

Horace had forgotten about the rope around his own throat, right up until the moment it jerked him to an abrupt stop, cutting off his air. He struggled fruitlessly, strangling, and a strong hand yanked him over onto his back.

The knife flashed bright in the sun.

Horace gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut.

The rope around his throat went slack, and he chanced half-opening one eye. Her expression was incredulous.

"I . . . was going to ask if you were alright," she said after a moment, tossing the rope aside, "but I guess the answer is fairly obvious." She bit her lower lip. "Just . . . try and lie still and I'll get you out of this."

"Thank you," he rasped, throat and mouth dry.

She shook her head, incredulity fading only slightly. "You're welcome."

"Rinna! Get away from him!" Chappu's voice was loud and furious.

Rinna's expression tightened and she got up. Horace followed her with wide eyes as she went to meet the islander man.

She shook her finger in Chappu's face. "You've gone too far this time, Chappu! This is way beyond one of your usual stupid pranks!"

"It's not a prank!" Chappu's face was turning red. "Somebody tied him up like that for a reason!"

"Oh, so it was one of your stupid friends?" Rinna shoved him, and to Horace's surprise, Chappu actually stumbled half a step back. "There's no reason to treat somebody like that!"

"Rinna, listen! I think he's Unsent!"

Rinna's mouth froze. Her eyes went back to Horace, who just looked miserably at the both of them, exhausted, dehydrated, hungry, and entirely unsure of what was going on or what it meant for someone to be "Unsent" or whatever it was.

"Where did you find him?" she asked more quietly.

"In a creepy little boat on the other side of the island. Looked like it came in with that mist the other day. Mayu found him. She thinks he's Marik Tass, some kind of Lost Summoner. She was going to take his boat to Bevelle."

"She'd never have made it out of the bay," Rinna said dismissively, but Horace could see the wheels turning in her mind. He rolled onto his back, and started to cry silently.

"He's not Unsent." Rinna's voice came from much closer. Horace felt something tug at the edge of his wrappings, heard steel gliding through fabric.

"How do you know?" Chappu growled.

"Because my mother never cried once," she said back, tone calm.

"Your mother-"

"Don't you _dare_," Rinna hissed.

Horace looked up at them through tear-blurred eyes, frozen there beside him. And then Chappu moved, grabbing the knife out of Rinna's hand. "One way to find out for sure," he said darkly.

"Chappu, don't you even think about-"

Chappu shoved her out of the way, sending her sprawling across the stone, and dropped to his knees, knife in his hand.

Horace cried out as the knife blade dug into his cheek like hot fire, felt wet warmth flow down his face and stared up at Chappu, certain he was about to die.

Chappu just stared back at him, eyes wide, expression surprised. Rinna's kick caught him on the underside of his jaw and Horace heard his teeth click together as he tumbled back onto his hands. A heartbeat later her knee hit that copper nose straight on, and then she was straddling the bigger man, fist rising once, twice, three times, four.

She got up.

Chappu didn't.

Her eyes were hard brown stones as they met Horace's, a livid scrape along one cheek as she picked up the knife and started cutting away at his wrappings.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

She stopped, stared at him for a moment, and then shook her head, a smile coming to her lips despite the tears in her eyes.

"It's okay," she said as she started cutting at the wrappings again. "It's going to be alright."

Clean, fed, throat no longer burning with thirst, dressed in a simple white button down shirt and long, loose cotton pants of the same, he sat very still on his three-legged wooden stool as Granny Elspeth smeared yellowish-brown paste over his cheek.

"That should do it," she said, her wrinkled features crinkled even further as she squinted at him "Your face is quite pretty, and it'd be a shame to spoil it with a scar."

"Thank you," he said softly.

She smiled at him as she screwed the top back onto her jar of paste. "Proper manners, from a proper lad. You're very welcome, young man." Her eyes went past him, tone flattening, smile disappearing. "It's a shame such a polite visitor didn't receive a polite welcome to Besaid. Shameful, and troubling."

Chappu was back there at the rear of the small room Granny Elspeth had ushered them into. Honestly, of the two of them, he probably looked the worse after his scrap with Rinna. Horace had caught a brief glance at his face, already swelling and turning spectacular colors.

Rinna had already been tended to, her scrapes covered with the same strangely tingly paste. The color didn't detract from her beauty, her silky black hair flowing straight down to her shoulders, framing her oval, delicately-featured face.

"Now, from what I understand, you were found wrapped up in those bandages lying outside in a boat in Wanu bay on the other side of the island near the old dock?" Granny Elspeth's gray eyebrows rose inquiringly as she set the jar of paste back among innumerable others in a cabinet against one wall.

"He's Marik Tass, the Lost Summoner!"

Horace turned as Mayu burst into the room, pausing near the door just long enough to kick Chappu in the ankle before strutting proudly to where Rinna and Horace were seated. "_I'm_ the one who found him," she announced as she stood next to Horace, legs apart, arms folded. "I was going to take his magical ghost boat to Bevelle to see my parents, but then stupid ninny-head back there" she paused to stick her tongue out at Chappu "almost capsized the boat. So then I was going to sneak back, only I found him lying on the path, and he was about to be eaten by a fiend and-"

Granny Elspeth raised an eyebrow. "And I thought _I_ told some far-fetched stories child. A fiend you say? How did you get away?"

"She almost didn't." Chappu's voice was squashed. Probably a result of his swollen nose. "Funniest thing I ever saw. The dead man bit the fiend on the leg. Probably saved Mayu's life too. I put a spear through its head."

Both of Granny Elspeth's eyebrows rose at that. She glanced at Horace. "You were bound within an inch of your life, so you bit the beast."

Horace blushed bright red. He dropped his eyes. "Yes."

She snorted. "And how about this claim that you are the Lost Summoner, Marik Tass?"

"He's lost his memory," Mayu interjected.

Horace shook his head. "I'm not. I'm Horace Kinsley. I work at Joe's Burger Joint, in Chicago."

"Joe's . . . Burger Joint. In . . . _Chicago_. Neither of these places are familiar to me."

"I'm sorry." Horace wasn't sure what else to say.

He heard Granny Elspeth let out a sigh. "Yes dear, I'm sure you are. In the meantime, it sounds as though you've had quite an ordeal, part of it at our hands I'm afraid. Rinna, please take our rather scuffed-up guest to Surabo's and make sure that he's settled comfortably so he can get some much-needed rest. Chappu and I are going to have a little talk."

"I'll come too," Mayu announced, bouncing to her feet.

"It's okay if you don't remember," she whispered confidingly to Horace as they walked out of Granny Elspeth's small two-story home. "You might be under an evil spell that's messed up your memory." She paused, and then added. "And I'm sorry we disturbed your rest." Despite her words, she didn't look all that sorry to Horace's eyes. He nodded noncommittally and left it at that.

The small town of Besaid was a pretty one, what he saw of it anyway. The walls were white plaster, the roofs blue-green tile, nestling above the clear, sparkling waters of the bay. The streets were paved and clean for the most part. A large house with tall windows caught his gaze, sitting a little way above the rest of the town on a hillside, roof tiles a bright red that clashed noticeably with the rest of the town below it.

"That's the Governor's house," Mayu said, following the direction of Horace's gaze. "He's a rotten old buzzard. Only comes down to tell us when the Senate's passed some new law or raised our taxes again."

"It sounds like you've been listening to more than just Granny Elspeth's stories." Rinna's tone was dry.

Surabo's was a broad-fronted stucco structure with three stories, deep porch divided from the street by a thin strip of grass and palm trees, and Horace stared as he followed Rinna in. It looked like a place right out of a vacation advertisement - wooden lounge chairs outside, hardwood floors and plush seating inside, and a beautiful view of the ocean no matter where you were.

He waited with Mayu in an empty corner of the porch, listening to her talk about Surabo's penchant for a game called _tismat_, which was apparently some sort of board game. Actually, it sounded like chess.

Surabo herself appeared after only a few minutes, a middle-aged woman with gray just starting to touch her thick black hair, a clean white apron on over her blue pinstriped cotton dress, sleeves folded up to her elbows.

She saw Horace up to a cream-colored suite complete with a full bathroom, sitting room, and white-carpeted bedroom, left him with a pitcher of water flavored with slices of lemons, limes, and oranges and a small basket of fruits and what looked like bran muffins, and excused herself.

Horace took a moment to appreciate the breathtaking view, stretched out on the big white bed, and fell asleep instantly.

He woke from a deep, dreamless sleep, expecting to find himself once more in his own bed, the utterly bizarre dream ended at last. His eyes went to the big window looking out over the bay, the sun hanging low over the crystal waters, and he blinked slowly.

Someone was knocking on the door to the other room. With a yawn, Horace got up to answer it, rubbing sleep from his eyes, half-expecting Mayu, or maybe Surabo.

Chappu's face looked like it was carved from stone. Horace fled, scooting around the table, slamming the door to the bedroom, running to the window, scrabbling for a latch, a handle, anything that would let him open it.

The door opened behind him. Horace crouched down and scooted back into a corner, wrapping his arms around his knees, and prayed.

"Hey, dead man – I mean, Horace. You can come out. I'm not going to hurt you."

Horace put his hand over his mouth to stifle the sound of his breathing and curled himself up into the tiniest ball he could manage.

There was a soft curse.

Horace's eyes widened as Chappu appeared around the corner of the bed. The young islander paused.

"Hey."

Horace didn't answer, staring at him with wide, frightened eyes. His heart was beating in his chest like a frightened bird, his breaths coming fast.

Chappu squatted slowly, holding out his hands. "Easy now. It's okay."

There was something there, in his dark eyes. Horace felt like his heart was going to burst. With a sob, he broke left, squirming under the bed.

"Fuck. _Hey!_"

Horace let out a wordless cry of terror as a strong hand closed bruisingly hard on his ankle, scrabbling at the carpet as he was pulled backward, certain he was about to die.

"Oh please God no, oh please oh please oh please-"

"Damnit, I-"

"_Chappu!"_ Rinna's outraged shout reverberated through the room. Horace felt the hand on his ankle let go and squirmed to the middle of the bed, curling up on his side.

"Rinna, I-"

"Shut up and get out," she growled from somewhere near the foot of the bed. "I don't want to hear it."

Carpet rustled as someone else crept under the bed.

"Hey."

Horace opened his eyes gingerly. Mayu was looking at him with her blue and green eyes, lying next to him on the carpet. She smiled at him. "It's okay," she said softly. "I bet you're scared without your Guardians. They shouldn't have left you all alone like they did." She reached out slowly, her small hand closing around one of his. "But it's alright." Her smile widened. "I'll be your guardian while you're here. Okay, Mr. Tass?"

Horace nodded after a moment, pulse slowing, and he followed her out from under the bed.

Rinna sighed as he appeared and shook her head. "Are you alright?"

He nodded. "I'm-"

"Sorry, yes I know." Rinna let out another sigh and took him by his other hand. "Come on, let's go have some dinner."

He managed to relax over the course of the meal. It was really quite delicious, some sort of mango chicken over rice and pea pods, with a large dish of sliced fruit in a bowl in the middle of the table, and at Surabo's insistence, he had a glass of wine to go with it.

He'd never been wealthy, certainly not wealthy enough to spend money on something like alcohol, so the one glass was enough to make him the slightest bit tipsy. Mayu escorted him back up to his room.

"Thank you," Horace said solemnly to her.

"It's my job as your Guardian, Mr. Tass." Mayu smiled brightly back at him, and then closed the door behind her before he could remind her that he wasn't actually the Lost Summoner she thought he was.

He simply sat in the sitting room for a long time, watching through the big window as the sun set over the water in a brilliant wash of hues, sinking lower until it gradually disappeared and the stars emerged.

As he was readying himself for bed, it occurred to Horace that Chappu might be back. He bit his lower lip, worrying over that. His gaze went out to the darkness that had fallen over Besaid. At least inside the town's walls, he didn't have to worry about things like the dog-monster. Hopefully.

He would just have to check and make sure he was certain of just who was on the other side of the door before he unlocked it in the future. He was beginning to suspect this wasn't a nightmare as he'd first believed, especially with all the scrapes and head trauma. Even if it was though, he still didn't want to be murdered in his own dream. Something told him it would be permanent.

The rising sun woke him. It was nice to wake up and be able to move, no thick wrappings to keep him immobile. Horace stretched luxuriously, relishing the feel of soft, smooth, silky cotton against his unbound skin.

Breakfast was waiting for him after his bath, along with a note. He blinked at the sight of the handwriting. It was, in a word, atrocious. He might have thought it was Mayu's, except that it was addressed to him, and Mayu seemed to make it a point to disbelieve anything regarding his identity that didn't fit with her preconceptions.

"Come . . . to . . . temple," he read quietly aloud, brow furrowing as he struggled to decipher the horrific penmanship. "Come . . . alone. Will . . . explain . . . all . . . layover."

For a long minute he simply stared at it. He knew what a layover was. He'd been on an airplane ride a couple of times before in his life. It was when you stopped at an airport in between flights.

But he didn't know of any Temple in Besaid. He frowned. If Chappu was trying to get him to be alone so he could murder him, it was a pretty bad effort. He glanced at his breakfast. And if it _had_ been Chappu who'd come and gone while he was asleep, it wouldn't have been all that hard to kill him while he was asleep and helpless, which pretty much ruled Chappu out.

It didn't seem like Rinna's handiwork either. From what he'd seen so far, she was very straightforward.

Horace sat down and read the note again, absently spearing a piece of egg with his fork and bringing it to his mouth. He set the note down, letting his mind concentrate on the delicious food.

He'd been showered and dressed for about an hour and he was sitting once more at the table in the sitting room, just enjoying the view, trying to pretend the note wasn't there, when there was a knock at the door.

"Mr. Tass! Mr. Tass! It's Mayu! Your new Guardian!"

Horace glanced away from the view, rose and moved toward the door, absently admiring the way the light cotton pants and shirt seemed to flow around him rather than hanging or draping awkwardly. It was like they were floating. Like _he_ was. They were probably the nicest clothes he'd owned in a very long time.

He opened the door with a smile for Mayu, who beamed up at him.

"I thought of the perfect way to get your memory back!" she announced proudly, folding her arms across her small chest and lifting her chin.

She reminded him, he thought suddenly, of a cardinal he'd seen in the park one day, vibrant and quick, full of energy, brash color drawing the eye, loud, sharp calls impossible to ignore.

He shook his head doubtfully. "I don't think my memory has anything wrong with it."

"That's just the spell." Mayu rolled her eyes and grabbed his hand. "Come on."

Horace allowed himself to be tugged along, mildly curious.

"Now you be careful with him, Mayu," Surabo said at the bottom of the stairs. "He's had a hard few days."

"I _will_," Mayu sighed, still tugging Horace towards the door. "We're just going for a walk."

"Well you don't go too far, and stay in town young lady," Surabo said pointedly, fixing them with a stern look.

"Thank you for breakfast," Horace said shyly.

Surabo nodded, her bun bobbing at the back of her head. "You're very welcome. Be sure the two of you are back in time for lunch now."

"Yes, Surabo," Mayu called without a backward glance, pulling Horace after her.

He started to feel his exertions after a good twenty minutes despite the smoothness and the very gradual rise and descent in elevation. Surabo must have been right. He was already tired out and they'd gone maybe a mile at most. Mayu glanced back as he started to lag, took a look at his face and stopped.

"Why don't we rest for just a minute?" she suggested kindly, and sat next to him, their backs against a low, pale stone wall. She regarded him keenly with her green and blue eyes. "So . . . do you remember being a Summoner at all? Calling the Aeons? Fighting fiends?" She hesitated, and then dropped her voice. "Confronting Sin at the ruins of Hokoa?"

Horace shook his head. "No."

"You were almost to the Calm Lands." Mayu's voice became a whisper. "That's where they say you died. You don't remember at all?"

"No." Horace glanced over at her. "Maybe I'm not Marik Tass."

Mayu snorted. "Well that's just silly. Of course you are." She sat back, eyes rising to the sky. "I would have liked to have met your other Guardians. The swordsman Jadzerak. The dark priestess Mideana. The fierce Ronso, Imbaru." She nibbled on her lower lip. "I hope they're proud of me."

"I think they would be," Horace said after a moment, feeling slightly bad for not being who she clearly wanted him to be.

After the silence had stretched out into a minute, and then more, she turned, a smile blooming on her face. "Thanks Mr. Tass." She sprang easily to her feet and tugged at his hand. "Come on, let's go. We're almost there."

Horace got up and followed her, and he found himself wondering, a little ruefully, how many more times he would do so. The thought really didn't bother him that much.

The pavement began to slope noticeably downward, and then, all at once, it gave out onto dirt, and Horace paused, lifting his gaze from watching where his feet were going to what lay ahead.

It looked as though it had been grand once, a flowing stone structure with a triple-barrel-shaped upper story giving it a vaguely nautical feel, most of the blue-white stone obscured now by moss and a few hardy vines that had managed to find purchase.

The long entryway was covered on the top but left open to the wind on the side, the vegetation giving it the look of more of a cave now.

Horace felt a hint of foreboding.

"Come _on._" Mayu's tone was exasperated. "I'm sure you'll remember this place. She looked up at him, saw his pensive expression, and her nose scrunched, brow furrowing. "Unless . . . you're remembering something now?"

"No." Horace bit his lower lip. "But there's something . . ."

"Familiar?" she finished for him, her face lighting up.

"Creepy," he said softly, staring at the structure. It didn't just look old, it _felt_ old, like the weight of its age pressed down on everything around it. "What is it?"

"It's the Temple of course." Mayu glanced over her shoulder at it, and then back at him. She tugged at his hand again, tone and expression softening. "Come on."

Horace's mind went straight to the badly written note. How could he think of anything else?

"Don't be afraid, Marik." Mayu looked up at him, determination in her green and blue eyes. "I'll protect you. As your Guardian."

And suddenly he recalled the beasts, the ones who'd cut him open, and done those strange things to him, and left him alone in that boat.

Something told him this was their place. Where they belonged.

His fingers squeezed Mayu's, and he glanced down at her, because he was pretty sure that what he was about to do was a very bad idea.

Her impatience turned to puzzlement. "Marik?"

"Would you . . . would you go tell Rinna that we're here?" he asked after a moment.

Mayu blinked. "Why?"

"Because I'm really scared," he said honestly, meeting her eyes.

Mayu nodded after a moment, and then leaned close, putting her hand to her mouth. He lowered his ear so she could whisper into it.

"She makes me feel safer too." She cocked her head, the motion quick. "Stay here Mr. Tass, I'll go get Rinna."

Horace nodded and sat down, waiting until Mayu was out of sight before he got back up again, trembling from more than just tiredness, and walked into the green cave of the temple.

It wasn't bravery that motivated him to take those tentative steps. It was simple fear. Fear that if he didn't obey, they wouldn't ask a second time. Fear that they'd hurt someone besides himself. Mayu was only a little girl, and even if he wasn't brave, he didn't want her to get hurt, or Rinna, or Granny Elspeth.

The light faded slowly, the wide doors at the end of the tunnel of shrubbery half-ajar. He stepped inside, and froze at the sense of soaring, wide space all around him. It was hushed, quiet, dim, and he was struck by a very old memory, from well over a decade ago.

He remembered the last time he'd gone with his mother to church. He'd been fifteen, and it had been so hushed, the rain falling softly outside, the lighting within slightly dim, the air scented with incense.

Horace crossed himself, and knelt there in the darkness and prayed.

_Keep me safe._

_Keep everyone else safe._

And then, as an afterthought, he added _Let Mayu be happy. Let her find her parents._

He didn't remember how the rest of praying was supposed to go - he thought he was supposed to say something at the end, but it had been too long, so he got back to his feet and he went forward.

He stubbed a sandal-clad toe on a stone step, fumbling hands finding a railing, and he stepped cautiously up, one step at a time, bringing both feet to one step before trying the next, moving slowly.

There were sixteen of them. He moved his foot forward, feeling for the next step, but smooth stone just kept on gliding beneath his sandal. He felt his way gingerly forward, through a doorway, felt a lip, butting up against more stone, and warily crept over it. It started to fall and he let out a squeak, but the motion was smooth, like an elevator, and it came to a soft, gentle halt. He felt his way around the wall, and realized abruptly that he could see light behind him, incredibly dim, but still there.

He rounded a corner. He had no doubt that if it hadn't been utterly pitch black he'd never have seen the luminance of the little dark blue glowing sphere at all, giving off more of a slightly different dimness than any real light. Still, it was better than nothing.

He picked it up in one hand, and his eyes seemed to gradually grow more accustomed to its light as he went deeper, because after a little while he could actually see the faintest reflection of moisture gleaming on the stone floor. It also got cooler.

He rounded a corner, and walked into a wall.

Horace blinked. Of all the things he'd been expecting, a wall wasn't one of them. The glow was definitely brighter now. He glanced down at the sphere. It was still a dark blue, but closer to that of the night sky when the stars and moon were out.

His gaze went back to the wall, and just as he was turning away his gaze caught on a small stone block sticking out, a depression in the top that looked suspiciously intentional.

Horace studied it, glanced at the sphere in his hand, hesitated a moment longer, and then laid it in the groove.

The light went out.

To his left, stone grated on stone, something shifting. He probably would have screamed if not for the faint golden light that ebbed through the growing crack in the wall, and he watched, heart beating wildly, half-expecting something to emerge.

Nothing did. The section of wall ground to a halt. Horace took several deep breaths, then more, and only as his blood stopped thundering in his ears did he hear the song. It was in a language he'd never heard, a woman's voice, and it was beautiful, graceful, slow, soothing, calm. He felt it wrap around him, and terror was replaced with wonder.

The room on the other side of the hole in the wall was grand, draped in crimson, the floor an intricately worked mosaic, all of it lit with golden light. For a moment he simply stared, gazing up at the steps that rose to a door on the right side of the chamber, polished bronze gleaming, painted with a symbol he'd never seen before.

Horace looked around him. All he could see was darkness.

It was a tight fit, but he squeezed his way through the crack and into the light.

The song was in his ears, resonating with something deep in his soul. Horace forgot he was afraid, forgot everything but his wonder and his curiosity, and walked slowly across the room, towards the door of bronze. The crimson drapes could have hidden anything. He didn't so much as glance at them.

He put his foot on the bottom step of the carpeted stairs, and the bronze door lifted up out of sight, the wispy veils of lacy white beyond drifting apart. He waited for something, someone, to emerge, frozen.

No one came out.

It was, Horace realized, an invitation. He couldn't quite make himself go forward, but he couldn't go back. He wavered.

"Hey! Dead man! You down here!"

Chappu's irritated voice cut through the song and Horace's indecision like a frigid knife, chilling him all the way to his marrow, fear of what was behind him winning out over the fear of the monsters that might lie ahead. Without another thought he rushed up the stairs, past the veils, and felt a moment's relief as he heard the bronze door slide shut behind him once more with a solid _clunk_ that seemed to vibrate through the soles of his feet, sealing the way behind him.

He glanced back over his shoulder, watching as those ghostly veils drifted back into place.

"Well. Here at last." Her voice was thoughtful, and slightly exasperated.

Horace whirled.

She stood on top of a big glass dome, oddly . . . insubstantial. Horace realized numbly that he could almost see the far wall through her ghostly midriff. Her black hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and the gentle lines of her not-unattractive face bore a certain distant resemblance to Rinna's. She was wearing a pair of green capris and a short, sleeveless, rose-colored shirt that bared her bellybutton.

"Who are you?" Horace's voice came out in a choked whisper.

She shrugged. "It's been too many millenia for me to remember my real name, but about a century ago, they still called me Valefor. I've been an Aeon far longer than I was ever human anyway." A smile curved her face. "I'm glad you decided to show. It was either get you to come here or kidnap you out of your bed in the middle of the night, and that would have raised quite a commotion."

"The note . . . that was you?" Horace tried to slow his pulse and his breathing before he hyperventilated. "What did you mean by a . . . layover? Is this just a stop on the way to somewhere else?" He glanced back over his shoulder, but the veils didn't shift even slightly, the bronze door remaining firmly in place. When he looked at her again, she was bare inches away from him.

"Yes, about that." Valefor looked slightly abashed. "You have _no_ idea how in-fucking-credibly hard it is to write a goddamn "g" with a beak. The terminology I was looking for was actually plane change, as in, from one plane of existence to another, but I figured layover was kind of the same thing . . . or at least, as close as I could get anyway, and a "y" is much easier to write."

It was kind of a stretch in Horace's opinion, but he was too scared of the wraith-woman to argue the point. In fact, most of what she'd just said made absolutely no sense to him except for the part about changing planes of existence.

He gulped. "Am I . . . dead?"

Valefor blinked, and then rolled her eyes. "No. Not dead." She turned away from him, striding back over to the glass dome, walking around the outside. "Although as far as the people back home in your world are considered, you might as well be." She shrugged and turned, facing him from the far side of the dome. "It's why we picked you. You were a suitable candidate and you'd cause the least amount of disturbance out of the pool of prospects if you were the one who disappeared."

Horace had always known he wasn't high on the totem pole of society. It was hard to find a job that was lower on the rungs than working in a fast food restaurant with a G.E.D at thirty-two years old. It wasn't hard to admit it to himself. But hearing it out of the mouth of a total stranger was nothing short of utterly demoralizing. He felt tears start to burn at the corners of his eyes.

Valefor looked him in the eye, cocking her head to one side, expression faintly sympathetic. "Don't think of it as an insult," she said after a moment, shaking her head. "Think of this as an opportunity to finally mean something, to do something important with _your_ life that will affect the lives of countless people."

"It sounds like there's no way back to Joe's." Horace didn't recognize his own voice. It was dead and just a little mournful. He felt like he was standing in front of his high school guidance counselor again, listening to him explain about how welfare worked and how to get himself registered, because he was "just one of those people" who "just need help."

"No." Valefor's voice was faintly sad. "No, there isn't. There's only forward."

Horace closed his eyes. "What do you want me to do?"

"For now, I want you to look, and I want you to understand." There _was_ compassion in Valefor's eyes as she met his watery gaze. She beckoned. "Come here. Look down."

Horace obeyed, hesitant at first about stepping onto the glass dome until her gestures became impatient, and looked down.

It was a statue, two broad white wings curling away from a mane of brilliant crimson hair, the woman's face obscured by the stone the statue appeared to be half sunken into.

"This is my tomb." Valefor's voice was bizarrely calm, ignoring Horace's gasp of indrawn breath. "It's where my human body rests. It was placed here when the maesters of Yevon used their power to make me into an Aeon." She lifted her hands, gesturing around her. "They called it a Fayth, but it's really a repository for my spirit, allowing me to manifest a metaphysical presence in the outside world. This song is _my_ song. It's the song that all of the first Fayths once sang. It's the song of our souls."

Horace looked at her for a long moment, the silence drawing out as she returned his gaze evenly, unblinking.

"Why did they do this to you?" he asked quietly.

"Because it was necessary," she said simply, her expression firming, dark eyes steady on his. "It's the same reason the other Aeons and I have brought you here. To prevent it from becoming necessary again."

"I don't understand."

"No, but you will." Her gaze remained steadily on him. "For now, you must learn my song, so that you can teach it to other Fayths. You must teach them to sing, and be free." Valefor smiled. "You were always a good singer."

"How do you know that?" Horace asked suspiciously.

"I know it because one of the gifts of the Fayth is to be able to look into the souls of those who enter the Chamber of the Fayth. It's how we were once able to judge whether a Summoner had the strength to bring our power to bear. It's how we now know what is afoot in the outside world." Valefor held up her hands. "Listen to the song of the Fayth. Learn it. When you're ready, we'll help you carry it to others."

Horace looked into her face, and sighed. "There's no way out?"

"If you're referring to the door, I'll let you go soon enough. If you're referring to the task we've called you here to fulfill . . ." She paused, and her expression flattened. "We've taken steps to make the alternative . . . unpalatable."

"Oh." Horace closed his eyes.

"Now, Horace Kinsley." Her voice was coming from right in front of him. "Sing with me."

Horace sang, until his throat felt dry, until his chest hurt, until the song she wove around him seemed to reverberate in the depths of his very soul, saturating his mind, until it felt like he'd _become_ the song, unsure of where it left off and he began.

"You can stop now."

Horace opened his eyes and looked at Valefor. She smiled. "You are weary, but it will pass," she whispered softly, stepping slowly closer to him. He could almost imagine he felt her breath on his ear. "You cannot forgive him, not yet. Not if you want to live."

Horace felt fear send tendrils shooting through his veins as she turned and walked back towards the dome. "Forgive who?"

"Chappu of course. He's been wandering around down here for a solid half-hour. He took the long way." Valefor stopped atop the glass dome over her tomb and turned to face him, expression becoming dispassionate. "Remember. No forgiveness. Not yet."

Faintly light-headed and thirsty, mind gibbering with terror, Horace watched as she dissipated like smoke on the wind. He turned as the bronze door began to rise, heart thundering in his chest. He looked around. There was nowhere to run in here, but out there, he might have a chance.

He walked quickly past the parted veils, half-afraid of what he'd find beyond, Chappu armed with a gun, or a knife, or simply something blunt.

The young islander man was wearing his green and blue waist-wrap just as before, sharp dark eyes watching as Horace emerged. He was unarmed. He didn't speak for a moment, didn't move, expression unreadable.

Horace felt as much as heard the _clunk_ of the bronze door closing once more behind him, the vibrations coming up through his feet like the first gentle fingertips of doom.

Abruptly the dark eyes narrowed, the jaw firming. The young islander man stepped forward.

"What are you doing here, Marik?" His voice was dark as he moved slowly to the bottom of the stairs. "Why did you come back?"

Horace shook his head. "I'm not Marik Tass."

"No?" Chappu didn't come any closer, shifting his weight, tall body illuminated by the sourceless golden radiance as he folded his arms. "If you're not a Summoner, why'd the Fayth let you in, huh? Why'd you come here? Why send Mayu away unless you were up to something you didn't want her to know about?"

Horace shook his head again, more frantically this time, fear coiling in his belly, immobilizing him in its icy grasp. "There was a note with my breakfast this morning, telling me to come to the Temple. Then Mayu came and-"

"You had her lead you here! I already know that part!" Chappu barked.

"No! She said the place was supposed jog my – _Marik's_ memory, only I didn't know she was bringing me here at the time, and I was so afraid when we got here and she told me; I was afraid they'd hurt her, and Rinna, and Granny Elspeth if I didn't do what they wanted and . . . and . . ." Sobs were choking Horace's throat and he stepped back, huddling against the cold bronze of the door, and cried.

"Fuckin'-A," Chappu muttered.

Horace opened bleary, tear-filled eyes and looked up at him as he neared, sniffling. He closed them again and lowered his head. "Please, just . . . just make it quick," he begged quietly.

Chappu paused, looking startled. His dark eyes closed for a moment and he took a long deep breath, and opened them again. "I'm not here to hurt you," he said quietly. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Besides dead man, you made it through dying once. What makes you think it'd be so bad the second time around?" Apparently Horace's expression must have revealed that the rationalization only frightened him further, because Chappu grimaced and knelt, laying one hand gently on Horace's shoulder. "I'm not going to hurt you. I'm not."

Horace looked at him for a long moment. "Promise?" he whispered at last.

"Promise." Chappu let out a sigh. "Just . . . relax. Take a deep breath. Calm down."

Horace nodded and tried to do as he was instructed. "I'm sorry."

Chappu rolled his eyes. "That's supposed to be my line. You got nothing to be sorry about. Well, except for when Mayu comes back with Rinna and they find you gone and start worrying." He glanced around. "Well, better now than later when we have an audience I guess."

Horace blinked. "For what?"

Chappu took another slow breath and looked Horace in the eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I thought you were Unsent, or a pedophile, or both. I'm sorry that I treated you so badly every time before that I've seen you, the boat, dropping you on the path and leaving you to be eaten, tying you up with Marlo on the stake, cutting you with the knife. I'm sorry for all of it."

Horace started to cry all over again, not because he was scared anymore, but because he felt bad and Chappu looked so earnest and sincere and uncomfortable.

"What is it now?" Chappu growled, expression darkening.

"She told me I'm not allowed to forgive you yet." Horace sniffled again. "I'm-"

"_Don't_ say it, dead ma- I mean, Horace." Chappu's eyes rose to the bronze door at Horace's back. "She said that, did she?"

Horace nodded miserably.

"_Okay_," Chappu mumbled with a slight shake of his head. "Well, let's go. If we time it right we should be out of here by the time Mayu gets back with Rinna." He grabbed Horace's wrist and pulled him to his feet, walking towards a doorway opposite the bronze door to the Fayth.

"Um . . ."

"What?" Chappu looked back, gaze slightly impatient.

"I . . . Valefor said you took the long way." Horace's eyes went to the opening in the drapes where he'd come through the wall off to the left. "Th-that way's dark, but it's probably faster."

Chappu blinked. "Huh. I was wondering how you managed to get past the part where the floor's fallen out."

Horace swallowed, eyes widening. Chappu wasn't looking at him, already heading over to the hole. He poked his head through, and turned and held out his hand. "Hold onto me. I don't want you getting lost."

Horace laid his palm gently against Chappu's and was surprised by the firm, solid grip that closed around his fingers, not crushing, but definitely secure, and then he was following Chappu into the darkness.

"I think we've hit a dead end," Chappu muttered ten minutes later. "What are you doing?" he asked irritably, sensing Horace moving around him.

"Th-the way I came down; the walls were circ-" Horace's sentence cut off with an abrupt gasp as the floor shifted under them and started to rise smoothly upward.

"The fuck?" Chappu blurted, hand tightening on Horace's.

When they reached the top, Horace could see dim sunlight coming in through the open doors opposite them, and he let out a sigh of relief.

"I had to _climb_ down." Chappu shook his head, sour expression outlined by the faint light from the door to Horace's eyes. "Fucking bitch." Then he was tugging Horace down the stairs, still gripping his hand.

"Mr. Tass! Mr. Tass! Are you inside?" It was Mayu's voice.

"Horace!" Rinna's voice joined it. "Horace, are you in there?"

"Yeah, he was just praying," Chappu roared as they reached the bottom of the steps. He abruptly shifted his grip, hand sliding up Horace's arm to grip his bicep. "Follow my lead," he muttered. "No need to make them worry."

"Chappu, if you've touched so much as a hair on his head I swear I'm going to make yesterday seem like a picnic!" Rinna appeared in the doorway, pretty face fixed in a scowl, Mayu at her side.

"I was just apologizing," Chappu replied irritably. "Your dead man is just fine."

Mayu ignored him, immediately rushing over to take Horace's hand. "Are you sure you're alright? He didn't hit you, did he?"

"Mayu!" Chappu's tone was offended, face fixed in a scowl. "I ever hit you?"

"You cut _him_ yesterday with a _knife_!" Mayu fired back instantly, scowling right back at him. "Lately you're always up to no good!"

"I'm alright," Horace said quickly.

"Are you going to explain why you dragged him in here?" Rinna's tone was cool. "Or did we arrive just in time?"

"'Cause I wanted to say I was sorry without everyone in town hearing it. It's none of their damn business anyway," Chappu growled.

"He did say he was sorry for everything," Horace added supportively.

Rinna gave both of them a searching look, and took Horace's other hand. "I'll take you back to Surabo's."

Her gaze went to Mayu as they reemerged into the sunlight. "Mayu, it was very irresponsible of you to bring Horace here by yourself. It's a good thing he asked you to come and get me. I know exactly what you were planning young lady, and you both could have been seriously hurt in that old wreck."

"Sorry," Mayu muttered sullenly, kicking the dirt.

Chappu's tone was still irritated as he emerged behind them. "I could walk him back, ya know."

"Shut up Chappu," Rinna snarled over her shoulder. "Go be somewhere else."

"Right, guess I'll go throw myself off a cliff or something," he grumbled.

They'd been walking for maybe five minutes when Mayu piped up again, tone conspiratorial. "So . . . did you get your memory back, Mr. Tass?"

"No." Horace shook his head and shrugged as he glanced down at her. "I'm still me."

Her little eyebrows drew together in her pixie-like child's face. "It sounds like we might need more drastic meas-"

"Mayu." Rinna's tone was abruptly a lot more similar to Chappu's. "We've talked about this. Horace is not dead, he's not a person from the stories, and he's not a Summoner. You need to stop badgering him. Things are already hard enough for him as it is."

"I'm sorry," Horace said quietly. "I don't mean to be trouble."

Mayu squeezed his hand and gave him a gentle, sympathetic smile.

Rinna let out a long sigh and shook her head, long ebony hair swaying beneath her hat. "Let's get you back to Surabo's."

Surabo greeted them with a wave from the porch, sitting across from a portly older gentleman with wispy white hair in a flower-print shirt and white slacks, the two of them engaged in a game of _tismat._

"Mayu, you wait in here," Rinna said as they entered Horace's sitting room. "We'll be out in a minute."

"'Kay." Mayu sat down in a chair at the table and started swinging her legs.

Horace felt a tremor of apprehension as Rinna led him into the bedroom, sensing an imminent lecture on his responsibilities as an adult.

"Now don't be afraid," she said gently. "I need you to take off your clothes so I can see if Chappu's hurt you anywhere."

Horace's face was instantly crimson. "He didn't - I mean, he never touched me. He-"

"Just . . . let me take a look." Rinna's tone was insistent. "I won't touch you, I just need to make sure he hasn't hurt you anywhere." She looked him steadily in the eye. "It's okay. You don't have to be afraid of him. Neither I or anyone else in town will let him hurt you." She smiled. "Surabo would hit him with a frying pan."

Horace let out a sigh and took off his shirt, fingers fumbling with the buttons, thoroughly embarrassed as he let it slip down over his shoulders, baring the soft swells of his flabby body. He'd never been proud of it, though it seemed that the privations of the last couple days had helped to slim it at least a little because it wasn't as grotesque as it had been.

Thankfully Rinna didn't insist on making him take off his pants, just had him slide the loose cotton all the way up to the top of the thigh so she could carefully inspect each leg for any bruises or discolorations.

"Why did you . . . want to check?" His voice was quiet, tentative.

Rinna glanced up at him, mouth flat, dark eyes distant. "Because when he was a teenager, there was another boy who grew up here. He and Chappu . . . they were always together. One day the boy's father came home and found them . . ." Rinna's gaze dropped to the floor. "You're sure he didn't hurt you anywhere, didn't touch you anywhere he shouldn't have?"

She was asking if Chappu had raped him, Horace realized. He shook his head and took one of her hands in his. "He didn't hurt me at all, didn't touch me anywhere." He bit his lower lip, and then said it, but very quietly, aware of Mayu in the next room. "He didn't rape me."

He saw the realization in her eyes as she glanced back up, the understanding that he fully comprehended just what she was concerned about. She nodded, and smiled at him after a moment. "I'd just . . . I'd just feel terrible if anything else happened to you after what you've already been through."

Mayu smiled as they returned from the bedroom.

"Mayu." Rinna smiled back at the little girl. "Why don't you tell Horace some of the stories? I know you've learned most of them from Granny Elspeth by heart."

Mayu's smile broadened, her gap-toothed grin infectious, obviously delighted to comply. "Well, it all started a _looooong_ time ago with Yunalesca and Zaeorn . . ."

* * *

**Author's Post-Script Notes:**

I like reviews, but the best reviews are the ones where you point out where I screwed up or I can do better. Constructive criticism is what I want most. You help me be a better writer, I give you better stuff to read.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Notes:**

**Woohoo! Chapter 2!**

* * *

Chapter 2

A Rainstorm Overflows The Pond. Awkward Fish Is Washed Downstream.

Surabo interrupted them for lunch, and afterward Rinna and Mayu had to go, leaving Horace once again to his own devices.

He managed to nap for a while, most of the afternoon in fact, worn out from the expedition to and through the Temple. He dreamed that his neighbor was pounding on the wall, demanding that he turn the stereo down, only he'd never owned a stereo, and it was the Hymn of the Fayth that was reverberating through his tiny loft at deafening levels.

He woke, realizing that there was indeed some pounding going on, only it was coming from the door to his suite.

"Hey! Dead man! You in there?"

It was Chappu again, and yet again, he was irritated. Rubbing sleep from his eyes, Horace went to answer the door, looking up into Chappu's copper-skinned face. He blinked warily.

"Well, you're not slamming the door in my face; that's a good sign." Chappu's scowl diminished somewhat, lips curving ever so slightly. "You sleeping?"

"Yes." Horace covered a yawn with one hand.

Chappu nodded after a moment, apparently expecting more of a response. "Well, sorry to wake you, but the _Adrammelech'_s just come into port. I thought you'd enjoy seeing it. It's one of the new alpha-class warships out of Bevelle. Supposed to have fireworks too."

"Chappu you are _forbidden_ to be within ten feet of that door!" Surabo's throaty voice had always been kind and dulcet on all the previous occasions Horace had heard it. At the moment it was anything _but_ nice.

Chappu flinched and looked to one side. "Docks, one hour," he said quickly, and took off running.

Surabo was at his door a moment later and she looked Horace up and down. "He didn't hurt you did he?"

Horace shook his head. "No ma'am."

"Good." Surabo gave a satisfied nod and adjusted the graying bun at the back of her head. "I don't know what's gotten into that young man lately. It's just about time for dinner anyway - you come on down and get something to eat." Abruptly she smiled slightly. "You're welcome to join me and the rest of my staff out on the back veranda if you'd like some company."

Horace smiled warmly back at her. "I'd like that very much."

It wasn't until he stepped out and closed the door behind him, turning to follow, that he realized she had a big, cast-iron skillet in one hand.

Surabo's staff not only included the maids, the cooks, and the two handymen, but also their families, and it made Horace feel just a little warm inside to be able to sit with them at the massive table as food was passed around. They laughed and talked, and seemed to realize that he wasn't a great conversationalist, because they mostly let him sit sort of in the background and observe the goings-on.

Afterwards they all went around to the front of the hotel and sat on the porch on the stairs or stood at the railings along with the few guests. Perhaps fifteen minutes passed, and then a star shot up from the massive, dark shape in the water, arching into the sky and detonating with a distant boom, streamers of blue and purple and yellow light blazing against the darkened sky.

Horace felt a little bad for not being able to meet Chappu at the docks, but the view from the porch was magnificent, and he smiled thanks at the young woman who pressed a smooth wooden cup of something into his hand. She was one of the maids if he recalled correctly - he believed her name was Leeza.

Whatever it was, it was sweet and smooth and slightly creamy and he took small sips, trying to make it last. At some point he went from standing at the railing to sitting down in one of the wooden lounge chairs, not really sure when the transition had occurred, only that he felt incredibly relaxed and somehow weightless, watching as lights danced and swirled and popped and boomed across the night sky beneath the moon.

He woke in the big white bed, and blinked, because he didn't remember anything after a flash of red and pink light in the shape of a blooming rose, no idea in his mind of how he'd gone from the porch back to his room.

Once again, breakfast was waiting in the sitting room. To Horace's relief, there was no poorly scrawled note along with it this time, just food and juice and a buttered croissant. He ate it with delight, saving the croissant for last, tearing it into small pieces and chewing each one slowly, savoring the buttery taste. A long bath followed, and he was just finishing buttoning his shirt when there was a knock at the door.

"Surabo says I'm supposed to ask who it is," he said to whoever was on the other side of the door.

"It's Rinna."

It sounded like Rinna too, so Horace opened the door and stepped back, letting her in. He smiled, but her own answering smile was wan and distracted, a furrow in her pretty brow. "Have you seen Mayu yet this morning?"

Horace blinked, and shook his head. "You're the first person who's knocked."

"She usually comes right over to my house for breakfast, or leaves me a note." Rinna's mouth tightened. "Sorry to disturb you."

"I-I'll help you look for her," Horace said quickly.

"It might not be . . ." Rinna trailed off, her dark eyes abruptly fixing on him. "Actually, that would be a great help. I'll wait while you get your sandals on."

Horace blinked, glanced down, and realized he hadn't put them on yet. He hurriedly snatched them up from the floor and followed her into the hallway, hopping awkwardly as he slipped them onto his feet.

The morning was slightly cool, not uncomfortably so, but Horace probably wouldn't have gone swimming in light of the temperature, the sun still low in the east. He followed Rinna into the street, glancing around, looking for blond hair and blue and green eyes, but Mayu didn't appear.

They'd been searching for a little over a half hour when they rounded a corner and almost walked right into a detachment of armed and uniformed figures. They were arrayed around a woman dressed in flowing, pale blue-white robes, voluminous fabric cloaking her hands, shrouding her figure, sleeves tied into place on top of sleeves, making her look like a cool, icy flower in full bloom, her dark brown hair pulled back with a pearl barrette.

Her guards had spears in their hands, swords at their hips, and what were unmistakably firearms tucked into holsters on the sides of their torsos. Their expressions were impossible to read under their curved black helmets and dark-tinted visors, their uniforms olive and black.

Rinna grabbed Horace's hand, but it was too late.

"Have you seen a little girl? Blond hair, one blue eye, one green?" he asked quickly. "We think she might have gotten lost."

Large gray eyes fixed on Horace, unblinking, and suddenly the day seemed a great deal colder.

Rinna's hand tightened on his. "Come on Horace, we should go."

"You have the talent." The gray eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "Come with me."

Horace shook his head. "I can't. I have to find Mayu."

Some of the soldiers started to level their spears.

Horace felt his breath freeze in his chest.

"Step to, Captain." The gray-eyed woman's voice remained high and cold.

"Ma'am?" The closest soldier turned her head slightly, voice light and female.

"A young girl is missing, Captain. She must be found. Step to." The woman's inflection remained exactly the same, her cold gray eyes till fixed on Horace. "You two may wait with me."

The soldier turned her head away, speaking into what was apparently a mic on her shoulder.

"How old is this girl?"

"She's eight." Rinna's voice was quiet, her fingers still wrapped tight around Horace's. "She usually has breakfast with me. She's been known to go off into the jungle by herself."

"Naturally." The faintest hint of a smile curved the lips in that pale, flawless face, gaze going to Rinna. "Bravery is to be prized, though it is hard to see it when the brave are too young to know the limits of their own resourcefulness." She glanced back at Horace. "You do not look like a native. How long ago did you arrive?"

"Three days ago." Rinna spoke quickly, something in her grasp warning him to keep still and let her do the talking. "He has no memory of where he came from or who he is. We found him washed up in an old boat on the other side of the bay. We've been caring for him, trying to help him recover. His mind seems to have been damaged to some extent as well."

"That's very philanthropic of you." The gray eyes didn't shift from Horace. "Is he simple then?"

"It's cruel to speak that way in front of him," Rinna said sharply.

"And yet his gaze is intelligent enough." The woman stepped forward, a single step, but Rinna tensed. Those gray eyes flicked back to her, and the hint of a smile vanished. "Perhaps this . . . malady of the mind will pass with time." The woman turned her head. "Sub-Captain?"

"Squads have been dispatched, ma'am."

One eyebrow rose. "I hardly require two full squads to protect me in a village full of honest folk with no ill intent. Send half your men to assist them."

"Medium Alexa-"

"That was a direct _order_, Sub-Captain. Step _to_." The cool voice got even colder.

"Mason, take your squad overland and hook up with Japhson and Wells." The Sub-Captain was clearly unhappy with her orders. Six of the twelve uniformed men and women with her broke off and jogged out of sight.

"Let's find somewhere to sit while we wait. Accompany me."

They ended up at Surabo's. Surabo herself gave Horace a slightly worried look as she took orders for a drink and "something to nibble on" from her guest. The soldiers took up positions around the outside table the brunette had selected.

"I'm Medium Alexandra," she said, faint smile returning. "What shall I call you?"

"I'm Rinna, and this is Horace."

Alexandra's gaze didn't shift to Rinna at all this time. Her stare was beginning to make Horace nervous. "That's a bit old-fashioned, isn't it? Did they give you that name, or is it one that you recalled?"

"He-"

"I addressed the question to him."

Horace froze, skewered on her unwavering stare. He couldn't tell her the villagers had named him. He had a feeling she'd know it for a lie the moment he said it. But if he said he'd remembered it, would that make Rinna look like a liar? He wasn't sure the consequences wouldn't be just as bad. His mind skittered, desperately aware of the lengthening silence and the way Alexandra's fingers had started to tap rhythmically on the tabletop.

"I don't remember who picked it," he said awkwardly. Technically it was true. It might have been his mother or his father or both. They'd never told him where it came from.

Alexandra's brow furrowed slightly. "You suffer difficulties with your short-term memory as well?"

"Yes," he said gratefully. That was also technically true. He'd forgotten things before. God knew some of them had even been important things.

Her eyebrows rose slightly at that, the faint lines in her forehead vanishing into smoothness once more. "That's unfortunate."

He nodded, trying to reinforce Rinna's explanation that he was mentally handicapped. The less he spoke, the better.

The day wore on. An hour passed. Two. And then the Sub-Captain's mic crackled to life and she stepped a little distance away, the back-and-forth of the conversation that ensued too indistinct for Horace to make out.

"They've found her ma'am," the Sub-Captain announced, returning to the table. "She's at the bay on the other side of the island. One of the locals is with her."

Alexandra stood. "Well, let's go."

They took a skimmer. It was sort of like a speedboat, only the part that carried them was actually elevated above the water, a pair of arched runners off to each side holding them above the waves. Alexandra looked bored. Rinna looked frightened. Horace tried not to be sick.

They were around the island in fifteen minutes and pulling into the bay. It took Horace a moment to recognize the blocky shape on the white, sandy beach. He'd never seen it from this angle before.

Chappu and Mayu were sitting next to the boat that had brought Horace to Besaid, a rough, wooden thing, seemingly carved from one piece. They were surrounded by more uniformed figures, dressed in olive and black like those who accompanied Alexandra. A long ramp was extended from the side of the skimmer to the sand.

Alexandra paused halfway down as her gray eyes settled on the boat and she turned and looked back at Horace. He felt panic start to bubble up inside.

"This was the boat you were found in?"

Horace froze. "I-I-"

"Marik!" Mayu got up and ran past the guards standing watch over her. "Marik!"

Alexandra's gaze went to the little girl and she bent. Horace felt his heart stop. Something awful was about to happen. He could feel it.

"Why do you call him Marik, sweetheart? I thought his name was Horace."

"_He_ think it is!" Mayu replied, approaching Alexandra fearlessly. "I found him over there, in his magical ghost boat! He was all tied up in bandages, like a funeral! He doesn't believe me! No one believes me! But I _know_ it was the boat his sorrowful Guardians set him adrift in! He's the Lost Summoner, Marik Tass!"

For a moment pure puzzlement etched itself across Alexandra's features, icy composure dissolving away.

"Mayu." Chappu was getting slowly to his feet, clearly wary of the black spears around him. "Honey, she doesn't want to hear about your crazy stories. Not right now, sweetheart."

"They're _not_ crazy!" Mayu shouted back at him, small face reddening. "He's going to take me to see my parents in the land of the dead! That's why he's here!"

Horace's heart went out to her in that moment, ice melting into sadness.

He should have been watching Alexandra's face instead. He saw her straighten, saw her lift one hand, face suddenly as cold as a glacier, something gleaming between her fingers.

The boat exploded into roaring orange and yellow flame.

Mayu turned, her eyes widening, and in the reflections that blazed in her pupils, Horace could see her entire world burning along with it. She let out a scream like a wounded animal and ran towards the blaze. Chappu caught her up in his arms and she kicked and fought and punched, a tiny storm of fury as her dreams crisped into ash right before her eyes.

"_No!_" she shrieked. _"No!_" She writhed and twisted in Chappu's arms. "Stop them Marik! Make them _stop_! They're burning it! _Make them_ _stop!_"

Horace stood helpless, heart aching for Mayu, tears streaking his own face. Rinna had one hand over her mouth, her complexion ashen.

"You won't thank me for this, not for a long time," Alexandra said quietly as she passed them. "She never will." Her voice strengthened, cold and harsh, carrying over the crackle of the flames. "Bring all of them, Sub-Captain."

Mayu's struggles eventually slowed in Chappu's embrace, and she laid her head on his shoulder and sobbed as he carried her onto the skimmer. The boat lurched into motion and she squirmed out of his lap, throwing herself across the boat into Horace's arms.

"They _burned_ it," she sobbed. "Now I'll never get to see my parents, and you'll never be reunited with your Guardians. She ruined _everything!_"

"It's alright, Mayu," he murmured softly, rocking her in his arms. "It was just a boat. That's all it was. Just a boat. Just an old, rickety boat. I promise."

Her sobs gradually softened and then faded into silence, her fingers curled in his shirt. Across from him, Chappu was glaring daggers at Alexandra. If looks could kill, her lifeless corpse would have tumbled overboard into the crystal water. Rinna just looked down at her folded hands, expression tense. She looked up at him, and he saw worry in her eyes. It took him a moment to make the connection, figure out why she was looking at him instead of Mayu.

It wasn't Mayu she was worried about.

The realization chilled him.

"She was the one who found you," Alexandra said after they were alone on the porch of Surabo's, her gaze fixed on the distant horizon, expression still as cold as marble. "Is that why you feel such fondness for her? She's the first thing you remember?"

Horace lowered his eyes and nodded.

He heard her soft sigh, sensed her turn to look at him. "I must hurt her again, I'm afraid. Before the next day is out she will be cursing my name for eternity, but the law makes no exceptions. Horace, or Marik, or whoever you are - you have tonight to say your goodbyes. Tomorrow you will depart onboard the _Adrammelech_ as part of my entourage."

Horace's head snapped up, because he was suddenly certain there was nothing he wanted less. Well, maybe a few things. But leaving with this frost-hearted woman with her cold face was definitely way down on his list of desirable outcomes.

Her porcelain features were utterly expressionless. There was no give in her cold gray eyes.

He lowered his head again in acquiescence.

No one came to see him all the rest of that day. He ate dinner alone and watched the sun set over the bay. Afterwards he went up to the room he'd spent all of three days in, lowered his face into his hands, and cried.

Breakfast was waiting for him in the sitting room again, along with a fresh change of clothes that he felt bad taking.

He met Surabo in the hallway. Her face was pensive as she met his gaze.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "I'm so sorry. I wish I could have repaid you."

Surabo shook her head. "The Medium settled up my accounts last night without me asking. Honestly boy, I was thinking you might stay, become one of us. I was going to write the whole thing off anyway. You weren't that expensive to keep up, and you made Mayu so happy." She sighed irritably, jaw tightening. "I can't believe the girl didn't show. I told Atto to go tell her you had to leave in the morning."

Horace smiled, trying to cover up how much that absence had hurt him. He'd only known them for three days. Well, two really. It wasn't surprising that they'd found other ways to occupy their time.

She reached up and patted him on the cheek, a faint smile crossing her own features. "You'll be alright boy. You take care now."

Alexandra was waiting for him downstairs. She was dressed once again in those voluminous blue-white robes, her dark brown hair done up in a twist and falling down the right side of her neck, cascading over her chest. She was accompanied by her full compliment of guards. He had a suspicion that the closest one was the same Sub-Captain from yesterday.

"Did you say your goodbyes last night?"

Horace shook his head. "No one came."

"I see." She looked at him for a moment. "I'm sorry. Come along." Her large gray eyes went to the soldier next to her. "Step to, Sub-Captain."

"Move 'em out," the Sub-Captain called in a loud, brassy voice..

The walk down to the docks was a quiet one. Horace kept looking for familiar faces – Rinna or Mayu or Granny Elspeth or even Chappu. He recognized a few faces from dinner with Surabo's staff the night before last, but that was all.

He was almost to the top of the ramp leading up to the deck of the _Adrammelech_ when he heard Mayu's voice.

"Marik! Marik! Mr. Tass!"

He whirled. Mayu was running down the dock, Chappu close on her heels, waving both arms frantically. She stopped and cupped her hands around her mouth. "I'll see you again! Promise!" Then, to his startlement, she turned, and ran back in the other direction. Chappu paused, gave him an awkward wave as well, and then ran after her.

"Strangely, I believe her." Alexandra's words were a thoughtful murmur. A smile tugged at the corner of her lips as she glanced at Horace before turning away. "Sub-Captain. Advise the commandant that I am ready to depart."

The Sub-Captain saluted and marched away.

Alexandra came to see him the second night, entering his cabin without knocking, and he bolted upright from his bed. She had a bag in one hand, her gray eyes studying him as she set it atop the small dresser bolted to one wall and pulled out a pair of scissors and a mirror.

"I'm giving you a haircut," she said plainly.

Horace's eyes went to the sharp metal shears in her hand. He didn't argue.

Bushy brown hair fell like rain, and he stayed absolutely still. When she was done, she handed him the mirror.

Brown curls still surrounded his head like a cloud, but they were closer to his head now, more like a cap and less like the gnarled head of a mop. He ran his fingers over it, and then he noticed his eyes.

The irises should have been a dull, muddy sort of cross between brown and green. They were more green than brown now, with chips of gold close to the pupils. He blinked, startled.

"The difference is stunning, I quite agree. Gone from ragamuffin castaway to something approaching decent in one sitting." Alexandra's tone was amused. "Now to do something about that beard."

If he'd been absolutely still before, he was as motionless as a hundred-year old statue as she ran the blade of the straight razor over his skin, staring straight ahead, trying not to tremble even though he wanted to flinch every time he felt it touch him. She rubbed his face roughly clean with the towel over his shoulders and smiled, stepping back.

"There now," she said with that faint smile. "You're not unattractive underneath all that hair." Her gaze dropped to the straight razor in her hand. "You haven't used one of these before, have you?"

Horace shook his head. "Thank you," he said quietly after a moment, grateful to her as much for not killing him as for the fact that she'd cleaned him up.

"You're welcome." It might have been his imagination, but he thought the smile on her face widened by an almost infinitesimal increment. "We'll be in Luca in two days. I'll come back and show you how to use this then, and we can get you a trainee's mantle and take you into the city."

That night he dreamed of home.

He didn't think it was a dream at first. He was standing at the register of Joe's, and then Alexandra walked in, wearing her elaborate blue robes, and ordered a chicken almond salad. He blinked, glanced around, and spotted Mayu in the back of the seating area, wolfing down a burger, pausing long enough to give him a cheery wave. Rinna was sitting across from her, biting down absently on a chicken nugget, staring at the folded newspaper in one hand.

"Hey, these fries aren't gonna serve themselves."

Horace turned, glancing to his right. Chappu was standing next to him, wearing a manager's polo shirt over his powerful chest, a pen behind one ear, square-jawed copper face fixed in a frown.

"This isn't the salad I ordered," Alexandra announced coldly, holding a buffalo chicken salad with bacon. She raised one hand, and the fryer exploded in roaring flames.

Chappu scratched the back of his head and jerked his chin at the flaming fryer. "You should go get those. She'll be mad if she doesn't get her fries."

"She didn't order fries," Horace blurted out, perplexed.

He opened his eyes, face still fixed in dismay, and blinked, because he was looking at a bare ceiling that looked an awful lot like it was made out of metal. It took him a moment to recall where he was. The _Adrammelech_ hummed around him with quiet power, a faint, vibrating throb like the slow beat of some massive beast's heart. He sat up and looked out the porthole. The sun was just rising over the water, a bright glimmering orb that sent streamers of brilliance over the crystal waters.

He turned as the door opened. The soldier was tall and brawny enough to remind him of Chappu except that his hair was a deeper red, his skin pale.

"I brought you breakfast." His voice was deep, green eyes resting on Horace.

Horace blinked. The meals the last two nights had been brought in silence, the soldiers lingering just long enough to leave the tray on the small table beside the door and then closing it behind them.

A tentative smile slowly curved his features.

Horace blinked, and then smiled back at him. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." The soldier set the tray down after a minute, one hand coming to rest on his belt, the other brushing his chin. "I uh – I'm Luzu."

Horace's smile widened, and he wasn't entirely sure himself why a blush suddenly slipped to his cheeks. "I'm Horace."

Luzu smiled at him a minute longer, and then his eyebrows rose. "Well, I uh – I'm gonna go." He jerked his thumb at the door, stepping backwards. "I'll see you later," he added.

Horace nodded, holding the blanket to himself.

Luzu ducked his head, turned, and walked out, closing the door behind him.

For a moment Horace simply stared at the door, puzzled and oddly amused. Then he got up and went to get his breakfast. He washed in the small shower attached to his cabin, sat up for a little while until boredom eventually drove him back to sleep, and thankfully didn't have any more strange dreams while he napped.

Luzu woke him for lunch, big hand gentle on his shoulder. Horace blinked the sleep out of his eyes.

"I brought you lunch." Luzu hefted the tray in his other hand and smiled.

"Thank you." Horace smiled back at him and sat up, the hand on his shoulder sliding to his back. Heat trailed in its wake, and he stopped, just looking up into Luzu's green eyes. Luzu looked back at him for a long moment. Horace couldn't explain the blush that raced over his skin again any more than he could the first time. He tucked his lower lip between his teeth, suddenly nervous, sensitive to Luzu's nearness.

He swallowed and took the tray from Luzu's hand.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, dropping his gaze.

"For what?" Luzu sounded startled.

Horace shook his head, because he was beginning to remember the last time he'd felt like this, what seemed like a lifetime ago. His fingertips rose to his mouth. He began to eat. After a moment, Luzu's hand left him.

"I'm gonna . . . . let you eat." Luzu's voice sounded a little abashed.

Horace nodded, keeping his eyes down.

He still remembered the last time he'd looked at a boy who was so close to him, so kind, and bridged the gap between them. He remembered the way Pete had torn out of the high school nurse's office, face burning. The nurse had come back in a few moments later, never even noticing anything was wrong, attributing the tears in Horace's eyes to the pain of his sprained knee.

Horace hadn't tried to talk to him ever again, and Pete hadn't made any effort to change that. They'd ended their high school senior year perfect strangers. Pete had plenty of other friends. Horace had never had any others.

He ate, and he waited for the memory to go away.

It followed him into his dreams, and he sat in the nurse's office for what seemed like a quiet, hushed eternity, listening to the voices of passersby, too indistinct to make out, surrounded by clean, antiseptic white surfaces and gleaming metal. He waited, not knowing who or what he was waiting for.

He woke as the sun started to dip below the horizon, sitting up and wondering with leftover dream logic just how long he'd be waiting.

He wasn't sure how much later it was after that that Luzu reappeared, dinner on the tray in his hand. His smile seemed, to Horace's eyes, to hold a touch more trepidation, and Horace wondered if he'd sensed the sudden flare of heat in Horace, the sharp upwelling of want that had slipped quietly from the sealed industrial drum that it normally occupied.

He was glad he hadn't let Luzu see it. He didn't want to see the kindness in those deep green eyes turn to disgust.

"I brought dinner," Luzu said after a moment.

Horace smiled tentatively at him. "Thank you."

To his surprise, and private relief, Luzu didn't leave immediately. He sat himself down on the edge of the bed, rubbing his hands slowly together.

"So, are you originally from Besaid?" Luzu asked after a few minutes had passed.

Horace blinked, looking up from his meal. He hesitated. It would be best for Rinna's sake if he stuck to the story she'd already made up. "I . . . I don't remember my life before there," he said hesitantly, looking back down at his tray.

"You have amnesia." Luzu's voice wasn't quite . . . unfriendly. Horace chanced looking up at him just a little bit. The big red-headed soldier seemed to have become more comfortable. He'd stopped rubbing his hands together. His brow was slightly furrowed though. "You could have a life, a family somewhere."

Horace wasn't sure what to say, so he said nothing.

"Sorry, that's probably a little bit of an uncomfortable topic," Luzu said after the silence had stretched to an awkward length, rolling his shoulders. "Still, maybe they'll come for you. Maybe there's someone in Luca who knows you."

"Maybe," Horace said quietly.

"Maybe not?" Luzu arched one eyebrow. "It sounds like you're not enthusiastic about the prospect."

Horace flinched. He was being drawn into deep water. The lie was stretching thin.

"Maybe there's no one. Maybe what happened to me . . . was done on purpose."

Luzu's green eyes darkened. "Don't think that," he said quietly. "You have to have hope."

With nowhere else to go, Horace retreated back into silence again.

Luzu sighed, and then he smiled. "Well, I tell you what – since you've lost your old memories, you might as well have something new to replace them. So let me tell you about the _Adrammelech_."

Apparently the _Adrammelech_ was a pretty big deal. It had two galleys to feed the crew and the soldiers stationed on board, numbering somewhere over seven hundred. The "sphere cannons" were supposedly enough to make even the Al Bhed jealous, and they'd apparently been almost exclusively the masters of "machina" up until about a hundred years ago. It was like a floating fortress, on its maiden voyage around Spira, visiting all the ports in celebration of the hundred and fiftieth year since the Eternal Calm had been brought about by the greatest and last High Summoner, Lady Yuna.

"They've still got vids of Sin." Luzu's eyes were distant. "Even knowing that the monster's been dead for a hundred and fifty years . . . it was still terrifying to see it. It used to rove around, destroying towns, villages, sometimes entire cities. It's amazing that they ever managed to defeat such a beast." He shook his head. "The fiends are still trouble now. Back then, they were worse."

"Fiends?"

Luzu glanced at Horace, expression turning mildly incredulous for a moment. "Monsters. People that died and were never sent. They devolve into necrotic things that hunger for life." He patted his gun in its holster. "Machina like this piece don't work on them. They're already dead. There's nothing vital that you can pinpoint. It's why we carry the spears and swords on duty."

Horace shifted uneasily at the thought of something that didn't mind gunfire.

Luzu smirked at him. "One of Yuna's guardians was a man named Wakka. He fought them with a modified blitzball. His arm was strong enough it actually worked."

Horace blinked. "Blitzball?"

"I'll take you to see a game when we reach Luca. It's quite a spectacle." Alexandra's voice was amused.

Luzu snapped upright into a rigid salute so fast the sheets were still settling when his fist came to his chest.

Alexandra wasn't wearing the elaborate robes today, just a long-sleeved, pale blue gown. She had a faint smile on her features as she leaned against the door frame. "At ease, Corporal," she said lightly.

"Ma'am." Luzu squared his shoulders, spread his legs slightly, and clasped his hands behind his back, expression turned to stone.

"You're not fraternizing with an officer _yet_, Corporal." Alexandra's eyes left Luzu to settle on Horace. "And I daresay he doesn't mind the company."

"No." Horace shook his head, blushing slightly. "He's been telling me a lot about . . . everything."

"A rather broad subject." Alexandra's smile faded. "You're obviously bored though, and I don't blame you. I have a book on The Last Pilgrimage that covers the exploits of the last High Summoner and her guardians. You seemed particularly interested. There are vids in Luca they left behind. It would only be appropriate for us to stop at the museum." The faint smile returned at last as she turned away. "Perhaps the good corporal would care to accompany us."

Luzu waited a moment after she was gone, and then another, and let out a deep, slow breath. Then he grinned at Horace and tapped his leg gently with his shin.

Horace wasn't sure what he was supposed to do, so he smiled back, and that seemed to make Luzu happy.

Ж

"No." Alexandra's tone was slightly irritated. "Hold it like this."

Horace carefully adjusted his grip on the razor blade, regarding it warily.

"Always be sure it's clean, and always make sure its sharp," she said pointedly. "It's when it's dull that it'll cut your skin. Don't drag it either, just let it glide."

Slowly, carefully, Horace put the blade to his face and tried to do as he was bid, clearing away a long strip of lather, leaving smooth, pink skin behind. He looked into the mirror, waiting for blood to start leaking from his face. It didn't.

It took him almost a half hour, much longer than the fifteen minutes it had taken Alexandra at the same task the night before last, but when he was done, he'd successfully managed to avoid cutting himself.

"How was the book?"

Horace set the mirror down and gingerly rinsed and closed the razor. "Very interesting." It was true. He was already halfway through it. It read like a mix between a travel guide and a fantasy. In particular, he was drawn in by the figure of Tidus, who'd apparently appeared out of nowhere at the beginning of the Pilgrimage, and returned there afterwards.

It was also informative, giving him a good amount of background on the places visited on Yuna's journey and helping him to understand just a little bit more what these people had come out of.

"Sin." Horace looked up at Alexandra. "You lived with it a very long time."

Alexandra blinked. "All of Spira did, my ancestors as well as yours."

Horace blinked back, realized he'd tripped up, and searched for a way to cover up his mistake.

"We'll be in Luca tomorrow," she said first, running a hand through his bushy hair, apparently unconcerned by his slip-up or willing to attribute it to his mental difficulties. "We can get you some trainees' gear then, and go catch some blitzball. We'll probably save the museum for the second day." Her gray eyes dropped to his. "Look forward to it, okay?"

Horace nodded.

The faint smile curved her lips once more, and then she was gone.

It wasn't that she was truly cold, he was beginning to realize. She was just very _in charge_.

He didn't think of her as a friend, wasn't sure friendship was even possible, but at least she was friend_ly_, and that was something. Horace looked at the door she'd closed behind her. It was strange – he'd been in this world maybe a week, and already he knew more people personally than he had back home.

He thought about Luzu, who'd brought all his meals again today. It was obviously wishful thinking, but he imagined the red-headed soldier had sat just a little closer to him on the bed today. Horace shook his head and lay back. Thinking about Luzu would get him nowhere. He picked up the book once more and began to read about Macalania Forest.

Ж

There was no ramp this time from the _Adrammelech_. The biggest set of stairs that Horace had ever seen was wheeled up to the side of the great gray vessel, and he retreated to Alexandra's shadow as figures in dark olive uniforms emerged from inside the ship, not the slightly baggy uniforms the soldiers had worn in Besaid, but starched, creased, even crisp, long slacks and formal coats, many of them decorated with insignia.

Horace studied them curiously until a short, soft word from Alexandra and a pointed finger showed him where to stand and he moved to a place just slightly behind her and to her left.

"I don't expect you to look intimidating, not yet, but at least try not to look frightened," she said quietly, her large gray eyes resting on the uniformed figures as well. "The regional governor, the mayor, and some other officials are going to meet us. Motorcoaches will take the command officers to the City Hall, where there'll be a few formalities, but we'll go straight to the hotel and then we'll be free to go. Just don't say anything and stay next to me in the formation."

Horace nodded, already feeling slightly nervous, because he'd never actually met anyone really _important_ before.

He fingered his garb. Over his shirt and his trousers, a long, pale blue robe hung to his ankles, and over that was a sort of white cape that went all the way around and hung to his thighs. It was, he reflected, almost identical to a choir boy's outfit.

He kept Alexandra to his right, trying to stay in the spot she'd pointed to as they started to move, and music began to play from somewhere, loud music, a stern, definitely militaristic march. Horace felt butterflies start up in his stomach. They fell in behind a group of the personnel with insignia covering the chests of their uniforms.

Horace looked down at the dock, and his breath left him.

The pier was full of people, packed in together, so many of them that he wondered how they'd all managed to fit themselves onto it, the only opening a thin aisle down the center. Cars that looked like they belonged in the thirties or forties rolled slowly down it, with curving roofs and broad, rounded hoods fronted by tall steel screens, escorted by more soldiers in olive and black carrying machine guns.

The crowds were making an awful lot of noise. Horace's fingers were clenched in the fabric of the pale blue robe. He swallowed, tried to work up some moisture in his suddenly dry mouth. They paused about three quarters of the way down the stairs while the uniformed men in front of them conferred with men in elaborate robes, and then they all started getting into the cars.

One of the men in robes slid into the car with Alexandra and Horace, and it was shut from the outside by one of the uniformed personnel. He ran a handkerchief over the balding, slightly shiny dome of his skull and his thin face before tucking it back inside his robe and smiling at the two of them as he nodded. "Medium Alexandra. I don't believe I've previously had the pleasure. I'm Maester Odellon."

"You have actually," Alexandra corrected absently. "Five years ago, at the groundbreaking of the Hall of Silence."

Odellon blinked, apparently caught off guard by her blunt reply and the off-hand manner in which it was delivered, smile slipping for a moment. "My . . . apologies. Forgive me."

"It is of no consequence," she interjected neatly. "You seem to have done well for yourself in five years. Junior sub-vicar for the Pontiff of Luca from what I understand."

"You're very well informed." Odellon smiled faintly. "I'd expect nothing less from the Gray Lady." He leaned forward slightly, tucking his robes closer around his slender frame. "It's quite extraordinary, this ship that Crusader Command has constructed. We're quite fortunate to be able to enjoy the spectacle of its presence."

"Indeed." Alexandra's tone cooled.

Odellon's smile widened slightly. "Some might even construe it as a show of force."

Alexandra met his gaze directly at last.

The maester leaned back, smile vanishing, and swallowed.

"My trainee has, surprisingly, not had the pleasure of watching a live blitzball game." Alexandra's voice had returned to its normal, crisp tones, her gaze going to Horace. She tucked a stray lock of bushy brown hair behind his ear. "A private box. Prime viewing at center field."

"The Pontificate will be happy to make the necessary arrangements," Odellon said quietly, hands folded in his lap, eyes downcast. "The Pontiff eagerly awaits your arrival at his offices and hopes you will accept his invitation for the evening meal."

"Please convey my gracious acceptance of his invitation."

Odellon nodded. "I will convey your words, Medium Alexandra."

The rest of the ride was utterly silent.

Horace didn't think he was supposed to see the furious glare the maester shot at Alexandra's back as she stepped out onto the sidewalk, and quickly dropped his gaze, scooting across the seat to follow her. He stepped out of the car, giving the man who held the door for him a shyly grateful smile that was returned with a polite nod, and tilted his head back, staring up at the hotel that stretched toward the distant clouds, windows shining like mirrors in the afternoon light.

"Step to, Horace."

Horace blushed and hurried after Alexandra past the uniformed doorman holding the door and into the polished marble and pale, wood-paneled interior of the lobby. He wasn't sure what had just happened with Odellon, but the maester quickly lost his place in Horace's thoughts, overwhelmed by the graceful golden filigree and breathtakingly life-like fresco of birds on the wing that adorned the ceiling.

"Horace . . ."

Horace felt his cheeks redden all over again and shut his mouth, hurrying to where Alexandra was waiting next to an elevator that was more of an elaborate cage rather than the big steel boxes back home. Yet another employee in uniform closed the filigree gates and shifted a massive lever with a ratcheting sound. The cage hummed around them, and began to lift.

They stopped on the eighth floor, and Horace followed Alexandra into a hallway with a vaulting ceiling and polished floors of patterned, polished wood, stands topped with vases full of flowers placed along the walls between paintings, a bellhop with a small, rounded cap leading the way.

He opened a polished wooden door marked with a symbol Horace didn't recognize, perhaps a number, and handed her the polished bronze key. Alexandra nodded, and swept past him.

"You'll be in the connecting room next to mine," she said as she tucked the key into her pocket. "If you're hungry, use the bell-pull next to your door."

Horace nodded after a moment.

She didn't give him a key.

His own room turned out to be more of a suite, rather like at Surabo's, with a sitting room, bedroom, and full bath. There was even a small refrigerator. Horace studied all the frost-glazed bottles and wondered if he should try any of them. He shut the fridge door and straightened.

For a long moment he simply stared at the walls of soft maroon, his bare feet resting on the thick, plush carpets that were spread over the polished hardwood floors, and found himself wondering how his life kept changing, drastically and seemingly without warning. It was insane.

Horace went back into the bedroom, sat down on the bed, and waited for his sanity to return, for the padded walls to come into focus. It was the only reasonable conclusion he could come to. At some point he'd snapped out of reality, and he was probably in a coma somewhere, drool dribbling down his chin.

It was enough to make him sigh. If there was one thing he didn't like, it was when he drooled, especially when he'd been sleeping on his side and it got onto his pillow. It was depressing to think that that was probably exactly what was happening now. Horace lay down, silky coverlet and sheets whispering softly beneath him, the mattress almost pillowy rather than hard as a rock like almost every hotel bed he'd ever slept in. The fabrics smelled faintly of something sweet and clean and nice.

He was just starting to drift off into sleep when there was a knock at the door in the other room. Horace blinked, and got up to go answer it.

There was a uniformed guard in black and olive on the other side, features hidden behind his visor, but Horace was pretty sure he wasn't Luzu. It wasn't the guard that got his immediate attention though, but the being standing behind the burnished brass cart in the hall.

He had to be at least eight feet tall if he was an inch, body covered in dark blue fur, the face of a lion or maybe a panther atop the thick neck that rose from broad, massively muscular shoulders. He was dressed incongruously in long black slacks and a sleeveless white button-down shirt, a little black bowtie that looked ludicrously out of place at his collar. A long, ivory-white horn sprouted from the middle of his forehead between the gelled-erect locks of his medium-length white hair, and his golden eyes dropped to Horace. His lips curled back, baring large, sharp teeth that made Horace swallow nervously.

"I've brought your steamed lobster, sir," he said in a deep, cultured, urbane voice that was as unbelievable as the rest of him. The demon-dog thing had been one thing, even the ghostly woman in her freaky Temple, Horace managed to swallow with only a little difficulty, but the massive, talking carnivore was just too much to believe.

He stood where he was, staring blankly.

Massive white eyebrows rose slightly. "Sir? Is everything all right? Did you not order the steamed lobster?"

"I . . ." Horace shook his head. "No. I didn't order any steamed lobster."

The huge bipedal feline being simply nodded. "My apologies. There must have been an error in the room number when the order was requested. I'll take this back to the kitchens."

"Sorry for the trouble," Horace said as the strange being in the black bowtie turned his cart around and headed back down the hall.

"Oh, it's quite alright sir." Those frighteningly sharp teeth were bared again.

Horace closed the door after a moment, went back into the bedroom, and lay down again.

If his subconscious was trying to tell him something, like in that one Tom Cruise movie where he'd been frozen and living in a dream world, then Horace was having an awfully hard time trying to figure out what it was.

He _did_ end up getting hungry a few hours later, but he didn't order the steamed lobster. He honestly had no idea how to eat lobster anyhow. Fortunately the staff was not averse to making spaghetti with meat sauce, and Horace sat on his bed and tried to think of something to do, because, in all honesty, he was starting get just the slightest bit bored.

His life before he'd turned into a hallucinating lunatic had been simple. Go to work, come home, watch T.V., go to bed, get up, and repeat. There'd always been something to _do_ though, even if it had been the same thing over and over, and the silence was starting to wear on him, the lack of voices and faces. Even on the _Adrammelech_ there'd at least been the thrum of the engines.

Horace's eyes went to the book he'd brought with him, the one Alexandra had given him. _The Last Pilgrimage_ sat on the table beside the opulent bed, looking like it belonged there with its thick leather binding and embossed title. Horace gave it a considering look. It was interesting stuff, but at the same time it wasn't . . . _satisfying_. He wanted to _do_ something.

He got up and went to the window. The sun was setting now, casting a brilliant gleam over a city that shone like a heap of glittering gems under its failing light, the air so clear he could see for miles out to sea. It took him the last few minutes until the sun actually set to realize what was missing. There wasn't any smog, no gray malaise hanging above the streets.

He turned away, and sat once more on the bed, resigned to literally twiddling his thumbs, unable to think of anything else to do. They were starting to get tired when there was another knock on the door.

Horace couldn't help the smile that bloomed across his features as he tilted his head back, raising his eyes to meet Luzu's gaze, relief surging through him. Luzu smiled back at him, a plate in either hand.

"I brought dinner," he said, hefting them slightly.

Horace didn't even mention that he'd already eaten not too long ago, hurriedly swinging the door wider and then closing it again behind Luzu.

"Nice digs." Luzu glanced around as he entered, setting the plates down on the polished table of dark wood next to the broad window.

Horace nodded. "They're very nice." He watched Luzu move. "So are you staying on the ship?"

"Yeah, they've got us in our berths. Cheaper that way." Luzu glanced out the window and let out a low whistle. "Must be one of the best views in the city." He turned away and grinned at Horace. "They let us go out for shore leave though. Looks like the Gray Lady isn't giving you the same privilege."

Horace blinked as Luzu pulled out one of the chairs and sat down. "Why do people call her that? I heard the guy we rode to the hotel with say it too."

Luzu's eyebrows rose slightly. "He must have been pretty brave to call her that to her face." He shrugged. "They call her the Gray Lady because of the way she is. She's cold, and a little creepy. Kind of like a chill morning with no sunlight."

"I think she means well though," Horace said quietly, lowering his gaze.

There was a moment of silence. "Why don't we eat?" Luzu suggested.

It was some kind of fish in a rich, tangy sauce, tender and slightly flaky, accompanied by steamed, seasoned vegetables. Ordinarily Horace wasn't a fan of fish, but in this case he was willing to make an exception, because it was excellent.

"So do you get leave after I eat?" Horace asked after he'd taken a few bites.

Luzu finished chewing and swallowed. "I actually got leave with the other grunts." He grinned at Horace. "But I thought I should come make sure you got your dinner just in case."

The words made Horace feel warm inside, the answering smile that bloomed on his own face irresistible. "Thank you . . . for thinking of me, I mean."

"Well, you know, I've kind of gotten to like you." Luzu's grin widened.

Horace wasn't sure what to say to that, so he smiled back, and that seemed to make Luzu happy. He'd sort of expected the soldier to say his goodbyes and go off to join his friends, who were undoubtedly waiting on him, but Luzu remained in his chair after he'd finished his food, looking out the window at the earthly stars that had bloomed in the darkness, shining points of light surrounding the darkness of the harbor.

He got up after a moment, rummaged in the fridge, and came up with a tall bottle, setting it on the countertop of the little kitchenette. Horace watched as he went through the drawers, came up with a corkscrew and opened it.

"I've only had this once," he said absently, glancing at the two flat-bottomed glasses he'd retrieved from a cabinet and pouring a little into each. "Luca Zenith. I had it at my graduation party." He smiled at Horace. "This looks to be about fifteen years older, so it should be ten times better. They don't sell wine like this even in the high-priced tourist shops on the boardwalk."

Horace hesitantly accepted a glass, and sniffed it, because it was what he'd seen people do on T.V. with expensive wine. It had a faintly sweet, not unpleasant scent. In fact it was actually rather nice.

Luzu gestured toward the window with his glass. "The fireworks should be starting soon."

Horace nodded, holding his glass carefully in both hands, and accompanied him back to the table next to the window.

It quickly became apparent that the show for Luca was a much grander display than the one the _Adrammelech_ had put on for Besaid, and Horace supposed that sort of made sense since it was a much bigger city after all. In Besaid one firework had gone off at a time, a single bloom of light flowering into a shimmering shape before fading away and being succeeded by the next. The sky over Luca was filled with color and fire, whirling spheres of flashing brilliance that spun and crackled and flowed into each other as they burst together.

He took a sip from his drink, and it was sweet and cool in his mouth, slipping down to his belly where it turned to delicate warmth that seemed to spread out to pervade his body. He forgot to be startled when an arm came around his shoulders. He could sense someone close to him, felt breath on his neck, and turned to meet Luzu's deep green eyes.

Their lips met, and the next firework felt like it shook the entire building, Horace's entire body vibrating.

He pulled back, horrified, fingers coming up to his mouth. Luzu was looking at him, smile gone, green eyes dark, face faintly flushed.

"I'm sorry," Horace whispered, tears coming to his eyes. "I'm so, so incredibly sorry – I shouldn't have . . . I shouldn't have . . ." He backed up, and Luzu's eyes followed him.

Luzu blinked, and then shook his head, setting his glass down, taking the one that shook in Horace's trembling hands. His hands, _large_ hands, Horace realized now, settled gently on Horace's shoulders.

"I kissed you," Luzu said softly. His brow furrowed. "You didn't do anything wrong. Alright? You didn't do _anything_ wrong. I kissed you because I wanted to. Alright?"

Horace stared at him, unable to believe his ears. "You . . . kissed me?" he whispered.

"Yeah." A hint of a grin returned to Luzu's lips, but his brow remained furrowed. "I kind of enjoyed it too." His grin abruptly widened, becoming slightly crooked. "Actually, I really enjoyed it."

Horace nodded after a moment, and looked down at his hands. They were shaking. He looked up once more, and met Luzu's gaze. "Um . . . would you . . . do it again?"

The way their lips touched was electric, energy flooding through Horace's body, as though he'd stuck a finger in a lamp socket. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe, and when Luzu's lips finally left his, his whole world canted sideways and he staggered.

Luzu's hands were on his arms, and his expression was the slightest bit incredulous. "You haven't done this before, have you?"

Horace shook his head mutely, because that was the absolute truth.

Luzu nodded, and after a moment his smile returned, lips quirking. "The view is just as good sitting down."

They sat in front of the window and watched the lights go up over the water, but Horace's attention was only half on the colorful displays. The rest was wondering if maybe, just maybe, Luzu might like to kiss him again.

The show ended after an hour, and Horace was feeling very relaxed, his glass empty. Luzu went and got the bottle of Luca Zenith, tipping the mouth over Horace's glass, and hesitated a moment. He poured, but it was barely as high as Horace's pinky was wide when he stopped, which Horace thought was probably a good idea. He drank about half of that.

"I bet they've probably got the sphere in the bedroom," Luzu said after he'd refilled his own glass. "Maybe there's something good on."

Horace wasn't sure what that meant, but he accepted Luzu's hand up, stumbled slightly, and leaned on him on the way into the bedroom. He more or less flopped onto the bed, but fortunately there wasn't enough golden wine still left in his glass to slop over the side.

The cabinet against the wall was in the same exact place a T.V. set probably would be in a regular hotel room, and intoxicated as he already was, Horace barely blinked when Luzu opened the doors to reveal a flat silver tray with a half of a glowing blue orb in the center. He touched something on the edge, and images sprang up.

It looked a lot like a sitcom, the clothes somewhat different, but not all that alien, and Luzu sat beside him. Horace turned to look at him, found those dark green eyes once more, and smiled.

That seemed to make Luzu happy.

The big red-headed soldier leaned over, and Horace let that current flow through him once more, tickling his nervous system with delightful sparks as their lips met.

They were laying on the bed, facing each other, the sounds of the sphere in the background. It had become a game of sorts. Luzu would kiss Horace. Horace would kiss Luzu back, each experimenting with the other's lips, kissing the upper lip, or the lower, or brushing them together, sucking on them, taking them gently between their teeth.

Horace smiled and laid his his head down on the coverlet, drowsy and happy, his hand resting on Luzu's chest, Luzu's hand on his hip. Luzu lifted his head, and rolled onto his side, rising up over Horace. The kiss, when it came, was different somehow, heavier, more insistent, and Horace yielded, that electrical current sparking a fire somewhere deep in his body.

Luzu's tongue slipped between his lips.

"It's getting late."

Alexandra's voice wasn't loud, or sharp, or even remotely stern, simply matter-of-fact. She stood in the doorway, still dressed in the same pale, elaborate icy-blue robes she'd been wearing that morning, still as crisp and stately as then.

Luzu's expression was dimly startled, his hand still on Horace's hip, blinking as he met Alexandra's large gray eyes. She stepped to one side. "You should get back to your berth, Corporal. Don't forget, we have a lot to do tomorrow."

"Right. Sorry sir." Luzu stood, pulling his shirt straight, and ran his hand through his dark red hair. His green eyes went back to Horace, and he nodded. "I um . . . I'll see you tomorrow."

Horace smiled shyly at him, and got a grin in return. Luzu turned and jogged through the door.

Alexandra's gray-eyed gaze rested on him, and he wilted underneath it.

The sudden, faint smile that curved her lips took him by surprise. "He _is_ quite pretty," she said blandly, and then turned and left.

Horace watched the door close, and then, slowly, he smiled.

His dream was unusual, peaceful. It was the first time in a long time he hadn't dreamed of work. He was sitting once more on the porch of Surabo's, watching the stars in the sky. They had taken it upon themselves to dance, weaving and whirling, the outlines of graceful figures almost visible at the edges of their lights.

He wasn't sure why, but something drew his attention and he lowered his eyes to his right, meeting the dark gaze of the boy who stood before him. He was dressed strangely, in shorts and a sleeveless, dark blue shirt with a hood that he kept over his head.

"We hadn't planned for this," the boy said in a disturbingly adult manner. "But it works. Just keep going with the flow." He folded his arms. "Honestly, it's probably better that it started early anyway. You have a lot to do."

Horace woke before he could ask what worked, or what was expected of him, the sound of a knock shattering the dream into a thousand tiny fragments that dissolved into the light of morning glowing through the curtains. He blinked, and sat up as Luzu slipped through the door, plates in his hands.

Horace couldn't help the smile that curved his lips in response to the one on the red-headed soldier's mouth, admiring those green eyes as they took him in. He was wearing what was obviously a dress uniform of starched olive fabric, a red braid on one shoulder, ribbons on the right side of his jacket, shoes shined. Luzu crossed to the bed, setting the plates on the night stand and then shifting over until he was next to Horace before reaching over to retrieve them.

"Good morning," he said warmly as he handed Horace a plate with eggs, bacon, and surprisingly, olives.

"Good morning." Horace smiled back at him, and a faint blush rose to his cheeks as an impulse came to the front of his mind. He set down his plate, levered himself up on one hand, and kissed the side of Luzu's firm jaw, feeling just a bit brash and the tiniest bit reckless.

Luzu's smile widened into a broad grin, and then his lips settled against Horace's for a long, steady kiss, that current of energy flowing between them once more. "We should probably eat." His voice was husky as he pulled away. "The Medium has big plans for today."

Horace smiled at Luzu, and that seemed to make him happy.

He showered hurriedly, and the clothing laid out for him today was, once again, the pale blue robe and the long white choir boy mantle over the top of it, a fresh pair of pants and a new shirt beneath, socks and new shoes to go with it in place of his sandals. In all honesty, Horace felt the slightest bit awkward wearing it, but Luzu didn't seem to think anything of it any more than the hotel staff had, and Alexandra's slight nod was approving.

So Horace fell into step behind her, Luzu to his right, and they took the lift down to the ground floor again. Another car that looked like it belonged to an age sixty years or more gone in Horace's own place and time was waiting quietly for them out front, and Horace was struck by just how quiet the engine was, not so much a purr as a faint, subtle hum. The dark brown seats were plush velvet, soft and almost pillowy to the touch. Alexandra sat in the seat facing the driver, and Horace sat across from her, making room for Luzu to sit beside him.

The museum was a massive building, shaped like a sort of gargantuan shellfish, the brilliant gleaming plates of the roof nested together, curving far enough down on either side to almost touch the rolling waves. The wind was strong, slightly brisk but not uncomfortably cool, and Horace found a smile forming on his face as it tugged at his hair, the air clean and richly scented with water.

Alexandra had dressed a little less ostentatiously today, Horace thought, perhaps because she wasn't on duty. In place of the elaborate pale blue robes with their layers of sleeves, she wore a gray dress scrolled with white floral prints and there was a lace shawl the color of pearl around her shoulders. Her dark brown hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail. She still gave off her intimidating aura, but at least she looked like she was headed to an upscale party instead of getting ready to deliver dire judgment from the seat of a throne.

The visage of the twelve-foot statue in the entry rotunda wasn't that of an unearthly, majestically beautiful goddess. It was the face of a young woman, a face that while pretty, wasn't earth-shakingly gorgeous. Her lips were curved in a kind smile. To Horace's eyes, she looked just a little sad too. One hand was held up, as if in benediction, the other at her waist. She was dressed simply in a flowing gown that hugged her shoulders.

"To future generations," read the marble plaque at its base "we pass down the greatest treasure that we have. To you, we give the light of hope, and the dream of a better, kinder, more peaceful world."

"It was the first sentence in the last speech she gave, at her address at the Salaci Vineyard on Montleigh Hill." Alexandra regarded the statue thoughtfully as she spoke, arms folded. "It's a little bit of an anachronism honestly. She was seventy-eight when she gave that speech; it was her final public appearance. But a younger, prettier face is more welcoming than an old, wrinkled one I suppose, and all the popular posters of her are the same." She turned toward one of the two great red marble archways that led from the rotunda. "Come along."

The first room was full of a mixture of paintings and photographs, some murky, some indistinct, some detailed. All of them depicted something huge, though Horace didn't realize its sheer size until he saw a photograph of a man dwarfed by one great, fin-like appendage in front of him and realized from the perspective of the boat he was standing in just how far away the thing had to be.

In all honesty, Horace wasn't sure which frightened him more, a streaky photograph of the beast with its titanic maw open, something inimical blazing from the yawning depths of its cavernous black throat as it hung against a late afternoon sky, or a chillingly well-rendered painting of a woman holding a child against a featureless black backdrop, expression terrified, the beast at her feet, jaws spreading wide.

"Sin," Alexandra said succinctly. "You would expect the number of fatalities among those who took the still-shots of the creature would be disproportionately high in comparison to the artists, but according to the curator, most of the artists were eventually victims as well simply due to the beast's indiscriminate destruction in the earlier ages the portraits date from. It's an interesting bit of morbid trivia that helps to bring home just what a significant threat it truly was."

Horace looked around him at the round walls three stories high, completely covered in images, and swallowed, no longer thinking of them as simply pictures, but as representing the dead. He wrapped his arms around himself and shivered, suddenly cold. Alexandra was already walking toward the next archway. A hand came gently to rest on Horace's shoulder, and he looked up into Luzu's reassuring smile.

"It's okay," he said quietly. "The bastard died more than a hundred years ago. A hundred and a half really."

Horace nodded.

The next room was dark, and Horace froze as the lights from the room behind him went out.

Suddenly he was standing high on a cliff, the trees shaking around him though he couldn't feel the gale that blasted them, the ceiling gone, replaced by a sky full of dark thunderheads. A man he didn't recognize was standing to his right, skin tanned dark, a red bandanna around his head, wearing rough white cargo pants and a cargo vest over his sleeveless brown t-shirt.

Alexandra stood waiting, and Horace glanced to his right, reassured to see Luzu next to him. He followed the red-head's green-eyed gaze out over the dark rolling waves, and his breath caught in his throat as it appeared, breaching with a roar of water that hurt Horace's ears, filling the horizon, blotting out the clouds above, the world growing darker as it rose.

He clapped his hands over his ears, unable to stop the sound out of his mouth as he clamped his eyes shut, wanting all of it to go away. Something moaned, the reverberations throbbing through his body. There were screams sawing at his nerves, jangling through his head, and then all at once they cut off.

Arms settled around him.

"Horace." Luzu's voice was soft. "It's okay. It was just a sphere-recording. It was a long, long time ago."

Horace tried to breathe, a convulsive sob catching in his throat, another, and he buried his face in Luzu's chest as they crouched there on the floor, waiting for the terror to go away.

"That happened," he whispered when he could finally talk again.

"Yes." Luzu sighed against the top of his head, breath soft and warm. He pressed his lips lightly to Horace's forehead. "But never again. The rest of the museum is a lot better - I promise."

Horace took a long, shaking breath and nodded, letting Luzu pull him to his feet. He met Alexandra's gray eyes. Her face was utterly expressionless, cold and a little frightening in its sere beauty.

"I'm sorry," he murmured quietly.

Alexandra just turned to another of those polished red marble archways without speaking.

The rest of the museum really _was_ better. There was a room dedicated to each of the heroes who had walked by Yuna's side in her quest to eradicate Sin forever, and of course, the largest of those was dedicated to Yuna herself, full of her possessions, spheres under the displays loaded with hundreds of recordings of her speeches and appearances, all of it donated by her descendants or by various historical societies for posterity according to the copper plates underneath each one.

Tidus' room was the smallest, almost an alcove, just off Yuna's. There were a few pictures on the walls, and a single sphere off to one side with a few short recordings of his blond hair, bright smile, and boyish tenor voice. In the center of the small room, resting blade-up, was the blue crystal sword he'd defended her with.

Kimahri's room was undergoing renovations. He looked a great deal like the massive bipedal feline at the hotel, except his life-size statue brought from Mt. Gagazet looked to be somewhat shorter and his horn was broken. Perhaps it was his alien face, but his expression seemed rather . . . stern.

"A remarkable people, the Ronso," Alexandra commented as they stood outside the cordoned-off doorway, apparently waxing talkative again. "They were driven to the brink of extinction in those days. They're now the largest minority on Spira."

"They don't get on particularly well with the Guado." Luzu's expression was thoughtful. He scratched his chin. "That's the other big minority."

"Indeed."

Several of the actual dresses that Lulu had worn on the Last Pilgrimage were on display, carefully preserved, creations of leather, fur, black lace, and more belts than could really possibly be necessary. They reminded Horace of the women on a dirty movie he'd seen on T.V. very late one night, sharply contrasting with the all stuffed animals and plushies and dolls in the glass case across from them. He found the whole setup of _that_ room a little bit on the creepy side.

He couldn't believe the size of the sword Sir Auron had purportedly wielded, puzzled over the shelves of motionless little machines in Rikku's room, and glanced over the blitzball display in Wakka's room. He hoped the actual game was played with the least dangerous-looking of the lot.

He didn't realize just how long they'd been inside until they left and he saw how far the sun had risen into the sky. Soldiers in olive and black were waiting around the car. On the other side of the street, people stood waiting, some of them parents with children. For a moment Horace thought they'd come to see Alexandra, but their gazes were only mildly curious, mixed with impatience, and he realized they were waiting to get into the museum.

"Um . . . sorry," he called weakly before he ducked into the car.

Alexandra wasn't looking at him as he scooted over; she was staring out the window, a small smile on her face.

Luzu settled next to him, shut the door, and patted him on the thigh with a grin as the car rolled into motion. Horace smiled back at him after a moment, and that seemed to make Luzu happy.

The blitzball arena was _massive._ Horace had seen stadiums on television before, but never actually been to one, and he was intimidated by the sheer monstrous size of the structure just from looking at it from the outside.

They drove past the main entrance, crowds waiting in line at turnstiles that wouldn't have looked entirely out of place at home, others at ticket booths, and were let off at a smaller side entrance, more soldiers in their uniforms falling into step around them, the automatic weapons in their hands held as though they planned on needing to use them.

A pair of employees in blue shirts and white slacks met them, directing them up flights of stairs to what was very clearly a private box in the seating. There was what Horace was pretty sure was a bar to one side, chock full of bottles and glasses, and on the opposite wall, a small buffet had been laid out. The row of chairs along the front of the box were thickly-upholstered, the cushions soft and yielding, and Horace was able to tuck his legs up and to one side, Luzu to his right, Alexandra on the right.

They were at what Horace presumed was center field, though he found himself perplexed by the lack of any sort of real field.

His confusion deepened as the playing "field" filled, a massive sphere of water somehow suspended in the air. His confusion turned to wonder, and then amazement.

The men and women with the strange, ropy hair, visible veins, sharp noses, and massive hands, Luzu explained, were Guado. They were facing off against the local team, the Luca Goers. It was a rough game, with no pads worn that Horace could see, centered around a round, slightly bumpy ball that they fought to get into the other team's small goal. They kicked, elbowed, wrestled, tackled, and he wasn't sure to be whether to be horrified or awed, not just by how brutal it was, but how they somehow managed to hold their breath through the entirety.

Luzu kept refilling his glass the entire time, and Horace remained on the edge of his seat, absently accepting the food that Luzu passed him, thanking him politely, unable to tear his eyes away from the action.

When they finally reached the half-time break, he desperately had to use the restroom, and it was with relief that he watched as the players kicked and swam their way free of the mysteriously suspended sphere of water.

"I really have to use the bathroom," he confided quietly.

Luzu just grinned. "I kind of figured." He stood and nodded to Alexandra. "I'll see him safely there and back."

Alexandra nodded back, small smile playing once more around her lips. Her gray eyes went to Horace, smile widening. "Your apology is not accepted, by the way." She looked away, back towards the empty water. "Being gentle is not a crime."

Horace stopped, biting his bottom lip, and after a moment he managed to smile back. "Thank you."

She waved in wordless dismissal, and he followed Luzu out into the hallway that backed the private booths, feeling a little bit warm inside as he trailed behind the soldier. Maybe, just maybe, he _could_ be friends with Alexandra. She was kind of scary sometimes, but the more he thought about it, the more he didn't think she did it to be mean.

The bathroom for the private boxes was just as nice as the one back in his hotel room, with polished brass fixtures, sculpted lamps, inlays around the edges of the mirrors, and marble floors and countertops. A little bit nervous, he closed himself in one of the stalls rather than joining Luzu at the urinals.

Part of him was still thoroughly convinced he was absolutely crazy, that this was all an elaborate hallucination, and yet, if it was a dream, if it really was just a lie made up by his mind, he was starting to think he didn't want it to end.

Luzu was waiting for him when he came out and started to wash his hands, and Horace met his smile with his own. Once again he admired the handsome face with its chiseled lines, the rich green of his warm eyes, his thick, short, rich red hair.

"Ready?"

Horace paused, struck by his own thoughts, remembering Mayu's promise, how she'd sworn she'd see him again, and he found himself hoping for that. He found himself hoping that maybe, just maybe this could possibly be real. He wouldn't even really mind seeing Chappu again either.

He thought of Rinna, and Granny Elspeth, and Surabo, and everyone who'd been kind to him in Besaid.

Horace nodded. "Yes, thank you." He was starting to think he really was. Granted, he hadn't solved the mystery of the weird ghost woman and his bizarre dreams. He wasn't sure what lay ahead. But he didn't think it was bad. He didn't think anyone here was planning on hurting him.

Luzu's gaze shifted up and past him as the door opened, and Horace turned, following his gaze, eyes meeting the golden muzzle of what looked like a gun. He didn't even have time to make a sound, eyes widening, and then everything vanished in a flare of harsh green light.

* * *

**Author's Postscript Notes:**

**As always, I leave you with a request for constructive criticism. If you see typos, grammar errors, awkward lines, or something just plain sucks or doesn't fit, please let me know that in the reviews! Help me be a better writer, and I'll give you better stuff to read! Comments and questions are always welcome too!**

**Thanks goes to those of you who've been kind enough to leave reviews.**


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